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STORIES 


BY 


KATHARINE JENKINS. 







Stories 


BY 

Katharine 


/ 

Jenkins. 


Was it a Lost Day ? 

The New Postmaster. 

The Whim of a Nobleman. 

After Many Years. 

What the Beach Birds Know. 
Aunt Sarah’s Wedding Boots. 

The After-glow. 


Hilda. 

The Bridal Bouquet. 

The Light Blue Tea Qown, 
Th? Lullaby. 

The Iron Cross. 

The Prize Chrysanthemums. 
An Etching. 






BALTIMORE 

JOHN MURPflY & CO. 

(metropolitan press.) 

1892 





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Copyright, 1892, by John Murphy & Co. 


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CONTENTS 


, Page. 

y Was it a Lost Day? 9 

'^The New Postmaster, 23 

The Whim of a Nobleman, 43 

After Many Years, 55 

^ What the Beach Birds Know, . . . . 65 

^ Aunt Sarah’s Wedding Boots, . - . . 89 

y Hilda, 103 

/ The Bridal Bouquet, - - - - - 117 

/ The Light Blue Tea Gown, 129 

’^The Lullaby, 139 

^ The Iron Cross, 159 

/ The Prize Chrysanthemums, . . . . 173 

-/The After-glow, 191 







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WAS IT A LOST DAY? 


^HE living room of an old farm house. A long 
low room, with great beams black with time, 
interlaced with a fretwork of lighter wood, a large 
chimney-place with seats on either side, and on 
the ponderous wood-work carved in old English 
lettering this inscription : — 

“ . . . . The Grace of Heaven 
Before, behind thee, and on every hand, 

En wheel thee round.” 

Four high narrow windows with small diamond- 
shaped panes lit the room, two at the end and one 
on either side of the chimney-place. The floor for 
several feet around the fireside was of tiles, kept 
shining by that best of cleaners — daily use. The 
rest of the flooring was of hard dark wood brightened 

11 


12 


WAS IT A LOST DAY? 


here and there by strips of gay rag carpet and a 
couple of skin rugs. 

The dullness of the room was relieved by the 
coloring of a few pictures on the walls, by the streaks 
of bright sunshine streaming in the narrow windows, 
by the glow from the wood fire almost lost as it was 
in the huge chimney, but above all by the presence 
of Lucy Lennox, the daughter of the house. 

She had placed her spinning-wheel almost in the 
centre of the room, not too far from the fire to escape 
its warmth, nor so near that the glare would scorch 
her sweet face. Her back was towards the window, 
and the sun-rays, loving all things bright, fell on 
her head and shoulders, kissing the refractory ring- 
lets, forming a halo around the slight form, and 
making the fine flax on the distaflP look like spun 
gold. 

Lucy Lennox was indeed a bright bit of human 
nature for the sturdy old sun to select for his loving 
attentions, for though she had gone through much 
sorrow and had walked hand in hand with trouble 
and pain, her heart was tender and full of ready 
sympathy for all in distress, her hand ever ready to 
help, and her face and eyes, though they bore the 


WAS IT A LOST DAY? 


13 


impress of past grief were so calm and full of peace 
that to look at her gave those who were world-weary 
a feeling of rest. Her eyes were the bluest of blue 
— ^‘a bit of Heaven caught by Mother Nature” 
her father used to say ; and her voice was so soft 
and low, with such a lurking suspicion of mischief 
in it, and yet so tender, that it was music even to 
the rudest and roughest nature. 

When she was old she used to say that the sweetest 
compliment she ever received was from a Quaker lady. 

‘‘My dear,” said the old lady, “if I was ill I 
should love to have thee with me, thy voice is so 
sweet, and thy step so light.” 

Out yonder on the hill-side back of the house lay 
the family burying-ground, the gateway marked by 
two Lombardy poplars that stood tall and straight, 
as if on guard. The latest grave made there was 
five years before in 1776, when Lucy^s father gave 
up his life for his country in one of the battles in the 
South under the gallant Colonel Moultrie. Although 
not killed outright on the battle-field, he could really 
be said to have given his life, for he was wounded 
unto death. Tenderly his comrades bore him home 
to his wife and children, and though he lay in intense 


14 


WAS IT A LOST DAY? 


suffering many weeks, his soldier spirit never left 
him, and he died as he had lived — a hero. 

Lying on the porch he would watch eagerly for 
any messenger who might perchance bring him news 
of the conflict still raging. When he heard of the 
downfall of the English at Charleston, he called 
Lucy, and bade her read him that most heroic of 
hymns — the Canticle of Moses. 

Who is like to Thee among the strong, O Lord ! 
who is like to Thee ! he murmured. 

When at last the news came that the yoke was 
thrown off, and our country declared free, listening 
with dilated eyes to the thrilling narration of how 
the Declaration had been drawn up and signed, how 
the old bell pealed forth the glad tidings to the 
anxious people, forgetful of his wounds and weak- 
ness, he raised himself up, and with a voice strong 
with joy, sang the stirring refrain from the old hymn, 

“ Jehovah hath conquered ! His people are free ! ” 

Falling back on his pillows, he again murmured. 
His people are free ! and his courageous soul 
went forth full of thanksgiving to the Divine Pro- 
tector of his beloved country. 


WAS IT A LOST DAY? 


15 


Do we ever stop to think of the brave men and 
women who like Kobert Lennox, with the love of 
God and of country in their hearts, giving up home 
and life, suffering the hardships and privations of 
war, enduring all, that the foundation might be laid 
for our prosperity ? Do we not owe them much ? 
Ah ! as time elapses I fear we grow forgetful and 
ungrateful, and accept our luxuries with no thought 
of the noble fearlessness which purchased our free- 
dom — our right to advance as a nation. 

The five years which had elapsed since the death 
of Robert Lennox had been hard ones for his family. 
But now the grey dawn of uncertainty which had 
hung like a pall over the New Republic had begun 
to lift ; indeed, the sun of prosperity had risen, and 
Mrs. Lennox and her three children rejoiced in the 
activity which came with the day of freedom. 

The sons had developed under the hardships into 
stirring, active men, and their one ambition was to 
smooth the pathway of life’s decline for their 
beloved mother. 

The old tannery, standing idle so long, was once 
more a scene of activity, the home farm yielding 
profitably, and the house itself a picture of comfort 


16 


WAS IT A LOST DAY? 


and happiness under the gentle rule of the dear 
mother and Lucy. 

Lucy was just twenty, and more than one suitor, 
glad to lay down the firelock and sabre, would 
have been willing to employ Cupid’s darts. . . , 
But no, Lucy had no thought but for home and 
mother, she said. 

But Lucy, why are you so dreamy this afternoon, 
and how is it that the flax breaks so often in your 
usually steady hand ? . . . Lost in dreams, Lucy 
was thinking of handsome Charles Worthington 
who had come so often of late to see her brothers 
on business. It was very peculiar business which 
never could be consummated except by a visit to the 
house, a full half mile from the tan-yards. 

Would he come this evening,” thought Lucy. 
The spinning-wheel went round and round, but Oh ! 
Lucy, careless Lucy, the flax is all in a tangle — 
lost irrevocably in love’s meshes. 

A shadow crossed the sunlight — Lucy gave a 
start of delight — but instead of the object of her 
thoughts, a most comical old negro stood before her 
in a broad grin. 

Why, Jim, is that you ? Where did you come 
from?” 


WAS IT A LOST DAY? 


17 


Yes, Miss Lucy, dat’s me. An’ yo’ ma says 
won’t you please ’tend to fixin’ su’thin’ nice for tea. 
Marsa’ Harry’s done said as he is gwine to brung a 
gent’man along home.” 

Important business ! How grand it sounds, and 
how much ground it covers. I have known whole 
days to be spent in pleasure-seeking under the guise 
of important business. So it was with Charles 
Worthington. He did indeed have business with 
the Lennox brothers, but after the dry, though 
profitable conferences about hides and bark, was it 
absolutely necessary for the closing of a business 
interview that a short cut be taken across the fields 
towards the farm-house, that his horse be tied to the 
venerable old oak tree at the garden gate, to say 
nothing of the pleasant chat with gentle Lucy ? 

It was the same old story ever new to every pair 
of young hearts. Old Father Time has made many 
changes in this wise old world, — science has done 
much — made rapid and prodigious strides towards 
effecting grand results. Art and labor have been 
made to clasp hands in a loving truce, and salute 
with cordiality beauty which has been forced to 
become the bride of necessity. Many things have 


18 


WAS IT A LOST DAY? 


been accomplished, but Cupid, happy elf ! has played 
with love in his own wilful way — nay, it even has 
been said that he still uses the same old bow and 
arrow as in the days when love was young. Can 
we blame the merry sprite for not keeping abreast 
of the times when his victims have never yet found 
out that he is ever using the same old darts ? 

Surely Charles and Lucy had no fault to find with 
him. They were very happy, and was it not very 
delightful that business should force Charles to take 
the long ride from town three times a week? . . . 
All this was long years ago ; how is it that the pretty 
picture of their love-making has not faded into the 
night of the past ? 

A sunny face hath holy grace to woo the sun 
forever,’^ — perhaps that is why their story still lives 
in the bright sunlight of the present. 

But they have left a token behind them — only a 
quaint little ring it is true, but within the magic of 
its tiny circle, their story is held, and hidden deep 
in the heart of the ruby the flame of their love burns 
as bright as in days of old. 

Charles and Lucy had been engaged some months, 
and the wedding was to take place in the early Fall ; 


WAS IT A LOST DAY? 


19 


but it was only Spring now, and all Summer lay 
before them, offering many days of innocent pleasure 
to the happy lovers. The pretext of business had 
long since been given up, indeed, Charles was 
already as a son of the house, and now he was spend- 
ing most of his time at the Lennox farm. Lucy 
had much to do. Courting could not be the idle 
amusement then that it is in our times. Lucy must 
spin, or where would she get her linen ? or where 
the wool for her best dress? — for home-spun was 
the best even for a bride in those early years of our 
independence. 

One bright, glorious day when all nature seemed 
on a holiday, Charles begged Lucy to be idle just 
for once and come with him for a ramble among the 
fresh beauties of the woods. Who could withstand 
such a plea ? 

There are many days on which I can spin, and 
perhaps a rainy spell may come, and then I can 
more than make up this lost day,^^ said Lucy, which 
shows that she was of a hopeful nature and expected 
to make hay even when the sun was not shining. 

Happy day ! A day lost, but a jewel found ! 

If Lucy had kept at her work that fair June day. 


20 


WAS IT A LOST DAY? 


I would never perhaps have seen this quaint ring, 
nor you have heard their story. 

Out into the sunshine went this happy pair of 
lovers, over the meadows, through the woods, chas- 
ing first this butterfly, stopping to peep at a bird^s 
nest, tenderly picking up one weak birdling which 
had fallen to the ground while the mother bird had 
flown away — laughing and singing with all the 
happy freedom of youth. Finally, when they came 
to the arm of the river which skirted the farm, 
Lucy declared she was tired. 

She seated herself on a fallen tree and Charles 
threw himself on the soft earth at her side. Looking 
up into Lucy^s face, he sang this tender bit of song. 

“ As brooks in sunny meadows run 
So may thy days pass, gentle one ; 

As tranquil rivers to the sea, 

Thy years flow towards eternity.” 

I do not know what Lucy would have said to this 
pretty wish expressed so lovingly, but just at that 
moment her eyes caught the sparkle of a bright stone, 
and almost tumbling over Charles she ran to the 
river’s edge to snatch the treasure ere the force of 
the water had washed it beyond her reach. 


WAS IT A LOST DAY? 


21 


What is it, dearest ? ” 

O Charles, such a beautiful stone ! Do catch it ! 
There ! There ! O ! I am so much obliged ! ’’ as 
Charles at the risk of breaking his neck reached 
down and caught the shining pebble, and handed it 
to Lucy. 

And this was the reward of a lost day 

A beautiful, deep red ruby, washed by the storms 
and winds from its home beyond the far distant sea, 
lying hid, perhaps for centuries, in this quiet nook, 
and started again on its journeyings by some trick 
of the fickle water-sprite. 

But no ; it had found its home. After the lapi- 
dary had burnished away the crusts which time had 
formed over its bright, burning heart, Charles had 
it set in a quaint little flat ring, and many happy 
years it spent on the slender finger of Mistress 
Charles Worthington, losing nothing of its lustre as 
the years flew by, and recalling for her always the 
recollection of a happy, idle day. 

I now possess this ruby ring, and as I gaze at it 
the past and present unite within its tiny circle, and 
deep in the heart of the ruby I seem ever to see the 
gentlest of my friends, fair Lucy. 











THE HEW EOSinffiTEIL 









THE NEW POSTMASTER. 


“ Only a little village street, 

Lying along a mountain side.” — H. Hunt. 

REAVING the railroad and its conveniences 
behind and turning one’s horses due north- 
west, by keeping in the well-worn pike for five or 
six miles one comes at last to Coatesville. Hidden 
as it is in the heart of the Blue Mountains, and veiled 
in the charitable mist which envelopes that pictur- 
esque chain in a soft weirdness, it has all the appear- 
ance of a phantom town clothed in the grave, tender 
blue haze. 

Looking down on Coatesville from the mountain 
road, one is tempted to envy its quiet repose, its 
freedom from the bustle and agitation of a city. 
Here, at least, we may find rest and peace. Released 
3 25 


26 


THE NEW POSTMASTER. 


from the noise and contention of the world, our 
hearts with the poet cry out in glad thanksgiving, 

“ Life’s burdens fall, its discords cease, 

I lapse into a glad release 
Of Nature’s own exceeding peace.” 

But when we descend, we find our mistake, for 
quiet as Coatesville looks, it holds human hearts 
enough to make or mar a little world of hope, ambi- 
tion, envy and contention. 

In the fall of 18 7-, it was the scene of a veritable 
tempest in a tea-cup.” For twenty years and more 
Jacob Hiss had held the gratifying office of Post- 
master. It just suited his tastes, and he considered 
himself the one person fitted for the duty. Being 
of a meditative turn of mind, it was very pleasant 
to him to dream over the few letters and packages 
which passed through his hands during the first 
fifteen years of his holding the office. 

People were in no hurry in that remote mountain 
region, life was not the scramble for recognition and 
place it has since become, and communication with 
the outer world was of small importance. But 
within the last decade, a keen-eyed visitor from a 


THE NEW POSTMASTER. 


27 


city had noted the wasted force of a turbulent stream 
as it grumbled and scolded down the mountain side. 
A large mill was the result. Another had found 
iron ore. Corps of engineers sprung to life, and the 
astonished people heard their mountain side, which 
they had looked on as being only masses of rock, 
proclaimed a mine of wealth. Still another innova- 
tion came. Orchards were planted in the valleys 
skirting the base of the mountains, and with these 
came the necessity for box factories. With the 
millers, engineers and enterprising fruit growers 
came a long list of needs and requirements, the 
supplying of which induced still another stranger to 
settle in the quiet town of Coatesville. 

Old Jacobis life was now one of misery, and he 
had little time to exercise his heretofore much 
enjoyed prerogatives. Many a tempting package 
passed through his hands before he had time to 
meditate upon, if not investigate its contents. And 
as for postals — he had scarcely time to spell out one 
or two, when the man from the mill would be there 
to demand his mail. 

Here, old slow-coach, give us the mail. I^m a 
hustler, I am,^^ he would say defiantly. 


28 


THE NEW POSTMASTEK. 


Poor old Jacob would gaze at the speaker mildly, 
remove his pipe from his mouth, give a hitch to his 
ample trousers, whose whole responsibility in life 
depended on the frail support of one button attached 
to unique style of suspender which Jacob called a 
gallus,’’ and then deliberately count out the papers 
and letters with a slow precision distracting to one 
of warmer blood. 

He was a firm believer in the saying that time 
was made for slaves.^’ 

Whaf s the use of all this fuss ? ” he would ask. 

Can’t you hurry up?” the newcomer would 
exclaim. 

Wall, I’ll he ! ” nobody ever new what, for he 
never got any further in the ejaculation. 

On this day when he drawled out his usual, I’ll 
he ! ” the man from the mill, exasperated by his lazy 
indilFerence to the impatience of a busy man, 
snarled out : 

Turned out of office, if you don’t look out.” 

Old Jacob fell back aghast. 

Turned out of office ! you dasn’t ! ” he quavered. 

But the man was on his horse and off, little dream- 
ing of the storm his threat had raised. 


THE NEW POSTMASTER. 


29 


Business increased, but in the midst of all the 
bustle of the new thriving mountain town, Jacob 
held firmly to his old time, aggravating customs. 
A change was coming however, apparent to all save 
himself. The low rumblings of discontent had 
gathered force, till they . were a veritable clash of 
long suppressed discord, and over Jacob’s unsuspect- 
ing head hung a second sword of Damocles. 
Unknown to him a petition had been drawn up and 
signed by all the newcomers in the neighborhood 
and by some of the mountaineers, begging his 
removal, and even going so far as to name his suc- 
cessor. This was sent to the U. S. Post-office, and 
the originators were anxiously awaiting the result. 
It was natural that the busy capitalist should desire 
a young, active man to mete out to them the favors 
of the post, but that the simple mountain people 
should turn on their life-long friend and Postmaster 
seems almost strange. 

The little town had caught the infection of pro- 
gress, especially the younger men, and with the 
thoughtlessness of youth, they forgot the possible 
feelings of an old man, and loudly joined in the 
chorus of better service.” 


30 


THE NEW POSTMASTER. 


To me there is something pathetic in the crowd- 
ing out or removal of an old man grown grey in a 
position, be he efficient or otherwise; but in this 
rapid nineteenth century there is no time for senti- 
ment, for this is preeminently the age of ingratitude, 
and the era of the young. 

* * ' ^ * 

* * 

A spirit of discontent had taken possession of 
Clementina Browne and her brother Jarvis. At 
least it had seized upon Clementina, and being of a 
masterful disposition and accustomed to lead Jarvis, 
she easily persuaded him that he was also desirous 
of change. So the two left the culture and refine- 
ment of Boston and came down to seek adventure 
and fortune in the heart of the Blue Mountains. 
Reverses had come to the Browne family, and Jarvis 
who was a man of sterling qualities, even though he 
bowed to the iron will of Clementina, hearing of the 
need of a general store in Coatesville, determined to 
thrust aside his dilettante mode of life and invest 
the small sum of money he had at his command, and 
make the bold venture of turning shopkeeper in a 
mountainous district. Clementina generously added 


THE NEW POSTMASTER. 


31 


her portion to the enterprise, and the resolve once 
formed, these two daring young Bostonians threw 
themselves into the work with the same zest which had 
characterized their pursuit of pleasure in palmier days. 

With Jarvis it was all business, and the success 
which attended his efforts amply rewarded him for 
the sacrifices he made. 

In Clementina’s case it was a sort of ennui which 
made her desirous of doing something out of the 
common. Having never been a success in society, 
she found herself approaching the dread age of 
twenty-five with no prospect of the goal of 
matrimony being reached. So she resolved that as 
she could not be a social success she would, at least, 
make a name for herself, and find recognition for 
the good she had wrought among the benighted 
people of the mountains. Philanthropic ideas of 
all sorts floated through her small head. It must 
be confessed that Jarvis would have greatly preferred 
that his sister had remained at home, and he make 
the venture alone. Much breath and time were 
wasted in trying to dissuade her from her purpose ; 
but it was all of no avail, for Clementina Browne 
once resolved could not be turned. 


32 


THE NEW POSTMASTER. 


So all the journey down Jarvis listened to the 
unfolding of wondrous plans for the missionary 
work of refining and developing the women of the 
Blue Mountains. She did not confine herself to 
Coatesville. Not at all — the entire region was to 
come under her large-hearted influence. She was 
going to institute a species of Chatauquan Club, she 
being head and sole directress, of course, a singing 
class, a designing and free-hand drawing school, and 
she even had visions of a debating club for the men, 
in time. 

I hope it will all turn out as you propose, Clem,’’ 
said Jarvis for about the fiftieth time. 

^^Of course it will,” said this strong minded 
young lady, have never been crossed in my 
life. All my undertakings succeed. Why not 
these?” 

The night they arrived, and for some time after, 
they had rooms at the Mountain House,” a miser- 
able, wayside hostelry, but the only inn or boarding 
place the village afforded. 

Clementina in her dark blue tailor-made traveling 
costume was a revelation to the servant-maid of the 
house, and the maid’s brusque manner filled Clem- 


THE NEW POSTMASTER. 


33 


entina with ecstatic delight. Here indeed was 
a field for the diffusion of her overcharged fund 
of knowledge. Poking her head in the door the 
first morning, without even knocking, the girl 
asked ; 

Be yoff un a goin’ to make yoPun bed ? ” 
Clementina’s lorgnette was raised in an instant, 
and in a clear, high-pitched, instructive tone, she 
replied : 

Young woman, it is bad form for you to express 
yourself in such a manner. You should be more 
careful.” 

The girl grinned stupidly. 

aint sade nothin’ ’bout yo’ form or ’bout the 
’xpress. I jes’ axed, be you’un a goin’ to make up 
yo’rn bed, ’cause ef yo’un aint^ I 

This had been some two years before the resolu- 
tion to depose old Jacob had taken active form. 
Jarvis Browne’s store was successful beyond his 
wildest hopes, and he firmly believed it was all due 
to advertising. He had brought adventurous 
methods with him from civilization. Hardly a rock 
for miles around, or a fence corner but had been 


34 


THE NEW POSTMASTER. 


adorned or defaced, as the fancy strikes you, with 
red and black letters : 

GO TO THE BOSTON STORE. 

STRICT ATTENTION TO BUSINESS. 

FINE GOODS. FAIR PRICES. 

THEREFORE — GO TO THE BOSTON STORE.^’ 

After many months of futile efforts Clementina 
acknowledged that her mission was a failure, and 
humbled by the shipwreck of her darling schemes 
against the rocks of mountain prejudice and igno- 
rance, she relinquished all hope of doing something 
extraordinary and begged Jarvis to allow her to 
assist him in the store. Book-keeping was among 
the many accomplishments she had mastered at the 
high school, and bent on being useful, she established 
herself in an office of her own devising at one end 
of Jarvis’ store. 

Poor Jarvis ! He was fond of his sister and 
admired her many talents, but with all his heart he 
wished her back on the New England coast. He 
had left his heart in the safe keeping of a dark-eyed 


THE NEW POSTMASTER. 


35 


maiden up North, who had loyally promised to be 
faithful and true, and was willing even to give up 
the luxuries of Boston and share his mountain home, 
if he should be successful. 

Success had come, but, could any fair minded 
man subject his wife to Clementina’s eccentricities?” 
he asked himself. 

In justice I must say that Clementina was totally 
ignorant of Jarvis’ thoughts and hopes, and had she 
known them would have been the first to abdicate 
in favor of his wife. With all her queer notions and 
impracticable ideas she was the soul of generosity, 
and her love for Jarvis was so great that any sacri- 
fice would be small to her strong nature if his happi- 
ness was at stake. 

In spite of his shrewdness and keen business sense, 
Jarvis was a bit of a coward, or else he would have 
taken his sister into his confidence. I think she 
suspected the state of affairs after a while, for she 
was too shrewd not to see that something lay behind 
the interchange of so many letters, books, boxes of 
ferns, mountain peaches, and every variety of tangi- 
ble and intangible expression of interest in each 
other’s welfare. 


36 


THE NEW POSTMASTER. 


She ruled the store and the customers with a rod 
of iron. Nature had fashioned her in a pleasing 
mould, but over-culture, as with many a fair fruit, 
had forced away the sweetness indigenous to her 
disposition in its natural state. An overweening 
sense of the fitness of things characterized her ; 
she could condone no breach of etiquette, and a quick 
asperity of manner distorted the covering of a really 
good heart. 

The men were afraid of her, and rough and bold 
as they were quailed under her decisive, 

“ Gentlemen, there are cuspidors for your use.’’ 

The women, less timorous, laughed, though they 
all admired her, and her infiuence was perceptible 
in their improved appearance, and in the cleanliness 
of their houses. 

Her accounts were a monument to the book- 
keeping department of the Boston high school, 
and though she 

“Wrote in a hand-writing clerky, 

And spoke with an emphasis jerky,” 

and unconsciously debarred Jarvis from the realiza- 
tion of the dearest wish of his life, she was of real 


THE NEW POSTMASTER. 


37 


practical use, and did much towards advancing the 
success of the Boston store. 

Such were Clementina and Jarvis Browne, and 
because they were so successful, the store so conve- 
nient, the promoters of the scheme for turning old 
Jacob Hiss out of office named Jarvis Browne as 
the candidate for the position of new Postmaster. 

Jfe Hi 

Turning over the mail one morning as it poured 
from the official bag, old Jacob came across a 
formidable missive addressed to himself. Break- 
ing the seals with trembling hands he beheld a 
formal notice of dismissal from office. 

Mother Nature was kind to the old servant, 
more kind than those who had been his associates 
so long, for when the various men assembled to 
receive the morning’s mail, old Jacob was found 
unconscious with the fatal document in his hand. 
The unfeeling men who had been his silent enemies 
were somewhat abashed at first, but when they found 
it was only a simple stroke of paralysis and that he 
was not going to die, they congratulated themselves 
on the neat turn the overcoming of the difficulty had 


38 


THE NEW POSTMASTER. 


taken. They had one and all dreaded the sight of 
old Jacob and the sound of his tongue, for they were 
well aware that he would not relinquish his beloved 
rights without a struggle. 

It was many weeks before old Jacob Hiss was seen 
on the sunny mountain street, and in the meantime 
Jarvis had assumed his new duties, the accessories of 
the Post-office been moved to his store, and all things 
were working to the satisfaction of the malcontents. 

In this time of Jacob’s illness Clementina’s true 
character shone out. To the great chagrin of Jarvis 
she gave her whole time and attention to restoring 
Jacob to life. Jarvis considered that her action 
reflected on him, as if in nursing the old man she 
gave open expression to her disapproval of his 
appointment. This, however, was not so, though the 
brother and sister came nearer to an open rupture 
than ever in their life before. Clementina had 
become necessary for the smooth running of the store, 
but with her stern puritanical sense of justice she 
considered that she owed it to Jacob to leave every- 
thing and nurse him. Jarvis was the means of 
bringing on this illness ; his sister should do all in 
her power to relieve its tedium. 


THE NEW POSTMASTER. 


39 


Can’t you realize, Jarvis, that your success means 
Jacob’s failure?” she asked. 

All that was best in her sprung to life in those 
silent watches. When Jacob was mending, he and 
Clementina grew to be the dearest of friends. The 
intercourse between the uncouth old man and the 
cultured woman wrought great good in each by over- 
coming lifelong prejudices. When Jacob was con- 
valescent Clementina went back to her desk, softened 
and sweetened by womanly duties. 

Book-keeping and shop-minding had grown dis- 
tasteful, but a lurking pride kept her resolution 
alive to carve out her own fortune. Jarvis was 
absorbed in his new work, and already many changes 
were in force. Three mails a day where there had 
once been only one, individual letter-boxes, even a 
special delivery to the mills and mines, and with 
these evidences of advancement more and more 
customers at the Boston store. 

It was pathetic to see old Jacob. Force of habit 
drew him to the store when the mail came in. His 
hands would tremble nervously and his eyes grow 
strangely bright as he saw alien hands opening those 
leather bags which he had regarded as his own. 


40 


THE NEW POSTMASTER. 


Jarvis resented his hanging around. The hungry 
look in the old man’s face gave him a guilty feeling. 

The simple old man, untaught as he was, divined 
Jarvis’ thoughts. 

‘‘Ye musn’t feel bad ’bout me a bangin’ ’round 
them bags. Mister Browne. Ye see they is an old 
man’s love. I kinder can’t git ’long without seein’ 
’em, jes’ as ef they wus my gal, ye know.” 

But Jarvis was rude and unkind, and would not 
humor the old man’s whim. 

“You believe in rotation in office, don’t you?” 
he asked one day. 

“Wal, yes. Mister Browne, I reckon I do. I 
doant ’xactly know what it means, but I b’lieve in 
all the laws of the United States!” answered Jacob 
loyally. 

“ Yes. 

‘You said the same: and are you discontent 
With laws to which you give your own assent?’ ” 

quoted Jarvis with stinging sarcasm. 

“Jarvis, I am ashamed of you !” cried Clemen- 
tina, bursting into tears. “ I did not think you 
could be so cruel.” 


THE NEW POSTMASTER. 


41 


That night the brother and sister had a long talk 
in whieh Clementina made Jarvis confess his long 
deferred hopes, and she informed him of her de- 
termination to return home. 

am weary of being something uncommon, 
Jarvis. I am going home to lead a woman’s 
natural life,” she said smilingly. 

By Jove ! Clem, you look a beauty to-night ! 
Life in the mountains has awakened your latent 
charms.” 

And so it was all arranged. Jarvis was to go 
home and marry Mabel, and while he was gone 
Clementina would run the business and prepare 
the house for the reception of the bride. After 
that she was to retire into private life. 

I may then rest on my laurels,” she said. 

The next morning after all signs of Post-office 
business had disappeared, old Jacob stood at the 
store door, a bundle in his hand and an old knap- 
sack over his shoulders. 

Miss Clementiny, I hev jes’ come to say good- 
bye. Ye see I couldn’t be happy without them 
mail bags, an’ Mister Jarvis doan’t like me a 
hangin’ ’round, so I jes’ made up my min’ to clear 
4 


42 


THE NEW POSTMASTER. 


out. I hev’ a sister on t’other side of mounting, so 
I’ll jes’ go long and stay with her a spell.” 

It was seldom Jacob made so long a speech. 

Clementina threw her arms around the old man’s 
neck and burst into demonstrative ejaculations of 
love and distress. The woman of culture was lost 
in the new found sweetness of friendship. Jarvis 
preserved a dignified mien. 

Clementina was making a fool of herself,” was 
his mental reservation. 

Mister Browne, I doant bear ye no gredge, no 
gredge, an’ I hope when ye git old ye wont be in 
nobody’s way. Good bye. Miss Clermentiny, God 
bless ye ! ” 

The brother and sister stood watching the old 
man. Up and up the rough, uneven street he 
climbed, past the houses, past the Mill. Up and up, 
his steps more feeble and tottering under his burden 
of years and misfortune. 

On and on, till he was lost in the tender blue 
mist of his native mountains. 


w wnin Of n noDifnnn. 



THE WHIM OF A NOBLEMAN. 


^BOUT thirty miles north of the city of Gratz, 
Austria, there is a rich valley hemmed in by 
the towering peaks of the Styrian Alps. Through 
this valley runs the broad and rapid river Muhr, 
and by its sparkling waters a well-worn road wends 
its way at the foot of the mountains. 

High up on the edge of one of the most towering 
precipices hangs the ruins of what was once a noble 
castle. The shattered walls and turrets seem set in 
the sky, and the clouds hang protectingly around 
the deserted spot. Vines and mosses grow over the 
crumbling stones, trees have sprung up within the 
walls, and the lacings of the twisted tree-roots and 
the embracing arms of the vines are all that hold 
the ruins together. It was a veritable cloud-capped 
castle in the air ” in its palmy days — now an awe- 

45 


46 


THE WHIM OF A NOBLEMAN. 


inspiring ruin, majestic in its desolation. But a 
hundred and fifty years ago it was teeming with life, 
the scene of all that makes life dear, the centre of 
home-happiness, love, pure and innocent enjoyment, 
the resort of the wisest and best of the land. Now, 
a stranger traveling along the river-skirted road may 
perchance stop to gaze at the stately ruin, and pon- 
der for a while on the history of its past grandeur ; 
but who is there to tell its story? • Forgotten are 
its legends, forsaken its halls, lost in the night of the 
past is even the name of the family who once 
enlivened it with their presence. And why ? 

The heir to this vast domain in 1740, was a 
whimsical, restless youth full of longings for free- 
dom and ambition to know and be known in the 
wide world. Surrounded and hampered as he was 
by the restraints and prejudices of his position, he 
looked upon his beautiful mountain home as a prison, 
his title and the formalities it involved as but links 
in his chains, nay, in his youthful inexperience his 
very wealth seemed a drawback to his happiness. 
Being educated even more liberally than is usual in 
Germany, his active mind demanded room for expan- 
sion, and our young heir determined to see the world 


THE WHIM OF A NOBLEMAISr. 


47 


in his own whimsical fashion. From his rank he 
was entitled to a prominent position, but the court 
of the celebrated Maria Theresa had no charms for 
him, and giving otfense by his ill-concealed indiffer- 
ence to the foibles of royalty, an opportunity for 
travel presented itself rather more abruptly than he 
had anticipated, and he was informed by friends at 
court that it was either leave, or fall under the open 
displeasure of his Sovereign. 

Enraged by this injustice, he threw aside rank 
and title, and assuming the dress and manner of a 
man of the people he turned his back on his stately 
home and started off joyously to see the great, wide 
world untrammeled by the circumstances of worldly 
position. 

Gustav Muhr, for as such we must henceforth 
know him, had traveled butterfly fashion from 
country to country for ten years when his still rest- 
less spirit demanded fresh food to satisfy its cravings. 
The Old World was exhausted, as was his purse. 
Youth had past, but vigorous manhood urged that 
life was still full of opportunities, that the New 
World held a wealth of untasted pleasures, and that 
its hospitable shores offered a field for the exercise 


48 


THE WHIM OF A NOBLEMAN. 


of his many and varied talents. Unlike the usual 
rolling stone ’’ he had acquired much learning and 
many accomplishments during these ten years of 
friction with the world, and the trade he chose for 
the expression of his life’s work serves to illustrate 
the whimsicality of his many-sided character. Bred 
as he was to every luxury, refined and developed by 
travel, weakened, one would almost think, by a life 
of ease, is it not remarkable that on arriving in 
America, his first act was to rent a forge he happened 
to see vacant in his ramble through the town ? 

The good people were amazed to see the fine 
gentleman who had arrived on the last vessel arrayed 
in costly apparel, and by his appearance, his 
numerous chests and boxes, giving every evidence 
of wealth and position, sally forth from the Inn one 
fine morning in working clothes and wend his way 
to the vacant forge. 

But novelty wears off, and soon Muhr’s forge was 
the resort of young and old. The children flocked 
around him like bees over a sweet-scented flower, 
and their prattling admiration for the gentle, delight- 
ful story-telling stranger, formed the opening wedge 
which gave him entrance into the hearts and homes 


THE WHIM OF A NOBLEMAN. 


49 


of the parents. All fell victims to his charms, and 
vied with one another in offering hospitality to the 
young smith. Of one thing they were certain, he 
was a gentleman, for under the grime of his chosen 
trade and the disguise of rough clothing his birth 
and gentle breeding shone out resplendent. If he 
had reasons for concealing his identity, why should 
they care? Were there not secrets buried in many 
a bosom, and would any of them prefer to answer 
questions as to why they had sought shelter under 
the outstretched wings of the American Eagle?’’ 
So he was received and accepted with the unreserve 
of a new country, where all were strangers. 

Soon apprentices and journeymen begged to be 
taken into Gustav’s service, and the whimsical 
nobleman found himself, to his own great amuse- 
ment, the head of a thriving business. 

Life was a long holiday to his men. Eccentric 
to a degree one would think almost unbearable, his 
whims were always enjoyable, and his men loved 
him with the devotion soldiers feel for their General. 
His mode of conducting business was most peculiar, 
and his old restless spirit never fully quieted down, 
but from time to time would assert itself irresistibly. 


50 


THE WHIM OF A NOBLEMAN. 


Sometimes, when he and his men were busiest and 
the shop full of yet unfinished work, he would take 
in his sign saying, ^4t was all folly to work so hard, 
that the birds were calling him so fondly he could 
not work, but must be off into the gay sunshine to 
see what they were about.^’ So throwing down 
tools and declaring a holiday, he would bid the boys 
cover the forge fire, and followed by his men and 
all the children in the town he would wander out 
into the open country. Seated in some secluded 
spot he would entertain them a whole afternoon with 
stories of his travels, with the weird, sweet music he 
drew from the heart of his zither, and with the 
ballads and songs of the old countries he had tra- 
versed in his quest of the new and beautiful. Nature 
had fitted him to be a leader of youth, a professor 
in some historic university, but caprice had gained 
the day, and he was happy and contented with this 
simple audience of youths and children, and the 
gentle presence of a few of the sweet, prudish 
maidens, who had followed to look after their 
mischievous little brothers, of course. 

Among the village beauties there was one dainty 
little maiden who wrought sad havoc with the hearts 


THE WHIM OF A NOBLEMAN. 


51 


of all the lads. They had courted sweet Letty Aitken 
arduously, and survived her cool reception of their 
attentions as best they could. But when Gustav 
appeared on the scene, with one accord they agreed 
that all chance for them was past, that here was 
the man worthy to be the husband of their young 
beauty. 

The circumstances of the first meeting of these 
young people were as peculiar as had been Gustaves 
whole career. 

I have forgotten to describe our courtly forge- 
master. The race from which he sprung was 
remarkable for great physical beauty combined with 
wonderful mental qualities, and Gustav was a 
worthy scion of his house. The grace and refine- 
ment of centuries were concentrated in his person. 
His manner and bearing were those of a soldier- 
king, his form tall and lithe, but strong, his hands, 
begrimed as they were, the perfection of shape, 
and his face a study for an artist. Clear cut, regu- 
lar features set off an oval face, eyes of wondrous 
brightness gleamed like stars beneath a massive 
brow, teeth of pearly whiteness adorned a mouth 
of wonderful flexibility. 


52 


THE WHIM OF A NOBLEMAN. 


At one time a sardonic smile played around his 
mouth, to be followed by a tender, sensitive, almost 
childlike expression, a quiver of the lips which spoke 
in turn of emotion or amusement. One did not know 
at first, whether to dread or love Gustav Muhr. 

Hair of jet black fell in curls around the high 
forehead and over the grand shoulders, in short he 
was a striking likeness of Mephistopheles, but with 
a character as full of changing beauties and whims 
as an evening sky. 

One afternoon with the peculiar magnetism of his 
wierd music he had drawn half the youths and 
maidens of the town around him, and was beguiling 
away the sunny hours with the charm of his voice 
and touch. Melody after melody rose in the pure 
summer air, delightful even to the simplest child in 
the company. 

Letty Aitken sat somewhat apart, absorbed in the 
dreams which float through the brain of a young 
girl. Her eyes were fixed on Gustaves face. 

Turning abruptly in her direction, and seeing that 
her gaze was bent searchingly upon him, he said : 

I know what you are thinking, sweet Mistress 
Letty.’’ 


^THE WHIM OF A NOBLEMAN. 63 

The girl flushed and said timidly — Do you ? ” 
Yes — you were thinking that I look like the 



Yes, I was,” answered Letty frankly. 

Gustav threw back his head in a joyous laugh, 
and rising, begged to have the honor of walking 
home with her. Arriving at her father’s door, he 
electrified father and daughter by asking in a most 
princely manner to be allowed the privilege of paying 
court to the fair daughter of the house, saying that 
he had at last found the object of his search — a 
perfectly truthful woman. 

Letty was a woman he might well have loved — 
calm, lofty and pure, and her truthfulness was but 
one of her many gifts. 

The fire of love soon burnt brightly in each heart, 
and their wedding, which took place after some 
months of old-time, romantic courtship, was one of 
the events which has come down to us with the 
traditions of the town. Prosperity and great home- 
happiness attended and guarded their career, and 
though Letty never knew till late in life who her 
husband really was, her trust and love was so great 
that no disquieting thought ever crossed her mind. 


54 


THE WHIM OF A NOBLEMAN. 


When at last the twilight of old age was gathering 
around the successful iron-master, calling his chil- 
dren, he told them the story of his life, and opening 
his chests displayed the certificates which established 
his claims to one of the noblest names in Austria. 

But, my children,^^ said he, if you would be 
happy, stay as you are, and rejoice that your father 
had strength to throw otf the trammels of court life 
and push on free and joyous in the open arena of 
the world, as the river whose name I took seeks an 
outlet through the blue Danube to the sea beyond.’’ 

* * * 5ft 

* 5ic * 

And so the ruins hang over the edge of the moun- 
tains, the river glides along washing their base in 
its glistening waters, and the descendants of the 
whimsical heir are happy and prosperous, following 
in the footsteps of their noble ancestor. 


nmR nnni thik. 




AFTER MANY YEARS. 


^NE stormy winter afternoon in the latter part of 
the first quarter of this century, an old gentle- 
man accompanied by his valet was seen riding into 
what was then a small town in western Pennsyl- 
vania, but which has since developed into one of 
our greatest manufacturing centres. Dismounting 
at the only Inn the town afforded, and giving his 
horse to the care of his valet with orders that it 
should receive immediate, and careful attention, he 
called for a generous supply of supper, and the 
society of his host. 

Long the two sat over the savory dishes making 
a striking contrast of courtly elegance and rude 
prosperity. Why should this fine old gentleman 
thus seek the companionship of his host ? He had 
many questions to ask concerning the neighboring 
families. Who so conversant as mine host ? ” 

5 57 


58 


AFTER MANY YEARS. 


There was a merry twinkle in his eyes when, an 
hour later, he called for his valet, and ordered him 
to unpack his traveling bag and produce from its 
depths the suit of disguise which from the beginning 
of the long journey had mystified the simple brain 
of that faithful attendant. 

“ For de Lawd sake, Massa, what is you a gwine 
to do ? ’’ pleaded Ben. Dis am a feah-ful night, 
an’ no ways fittin’ for you to be out. An good 
Lawd ! is you gwine to tote yo’ fiddle ? ” 

It was bad enough for his Master to go out in the 
storm, but to take his precious violin, his priceless 
Cremona, that was more than Ben’s patience could 
stand. 

Massa, you jes’ mus’ tell Ben where you is 
gwinin’.” 

It was no use trying to evade the questions of this 
domestic tyrant. The Master had to take his ser- 
vant into his confidence, or else be ignominiously 
followed and watched. This the old gentleman did 
not wish, so he unfolded his plan to the curious Ben, 
and received a scolding for his pains, as is generally 
the case between Master and spoiled family servant. 
Grumbling and expostulating Ben arrayed his 


AFTER MANY YEARS. 


59 


Master in the disguising suit, metamorphosing him 
from the fine old gentleman into a poor traveler in 
shabby attire. 

Now Ben, amuse yourself till I come back, or 
send for you. And mind you see to my horses,” 
were the parting orders of the Master as he rode out 
into the stormy night on an old horse hired from 
the Inn, his beloved Cremona safely wrapped in the 
ample folds of his large traveling cloak, his soft, 
silver- white cue hidden under a coarse red wig, his 
smooth face disfigured by false whiskers and beard, 
and his whole personality lost in this strange 
apparel. Surely no one would know him, perhaps 
not, but Henry Hunt once seen could not be for- 
gotten. Nature had given him wondrous eyes, and 
no amount of disguise could hide them. Neither 
Master nor servant had given them a thought, or 
perhaps a pair of goggles would have been worn to 
conceal their beauty. 

^‘1 pray de good Lawd Miss Mary wilk know 
him to once. Dis yere maskeerade bisiness don’t 
suit dis chile,” muttered the old darkey. 

The fact is Ben had hoped to ride up with his 
Master to his sister’s home, and astonish the servants 


60 


AFTER MANY YEARS. 


by the style in which they traveled. He was sin- 
cerely proud of his handsome old Master, to say 
nothing of his own becoming livery and bearing. 
It was humiliating and galling in the extreme to see 
his Master ride ofiP in mean attire on a wretched 
horse, to be shorn of all the privileges befitting his 
state as valet, to be reduced to the humbling position 
of being left behind. 

Faithful old darkey Ben was but human, for do we 
not all like to be there to see how it is going to be ? 

* * * * 

* * * 

Henry Hunt had occasion to go into what was 
then the far West, and with brotherly affection 
resolved to visit his sister whom he had not seen for 
thirty years. She had married and gone west, and 
as traveling was not the easy, every day affair it is 
with us it was no uncommon thing for families to 
be separated for years, and the intercourse even by 
letter to be meagre and long delayed. Traveling 
had to be done either on horseback or in carriages, 
and those courageous enough to undertake a journey 
were subject to delays and inconveniences which we 
have never experienced and can little imagine. The 
idea had struck Henry Hunt to disguise himself and 


AFTER MANY YEARS. 


61 


see if the old love which had existed between him- 
self and his sister still burned strong enough to 
break down the barrier he planned to build. We 
shall see how he performed his rdle. 

The Wilkins farm lay some three miles beyond 
the town, overlooking the Monongahela River, 
whose waters formed its boundary line on the west. 
It Avas an exquisite spot in fine weather, but in this 
heavy storm when the roar of the river told that 
its waters were lashed by the fury of the wind, when 
the road-bed was almost a running stream, its beauty 
was hidden. Traveling was anything but pleasant. 
Still the old gentleman, nothing daunted, pushed on 
and arrived at the farm in time to partake of the 
merriment of the evening. 

Riding around to the kitchen door he asked 
shelter and was at once admitted, and his horse 
cared for with true country hospitality. He took a 
seat in the huge kitchen chimney-place, and keeping 
himself well bundled up watched the merry scene 
before him. There had been a gay party of young 
folks gathered at the River Farm several days before, 
and as the roads were declared impassable, a number 
had been forced to stay over till the storm abated. 


62 


AFTER MANY YEARS. 


They had all assembled in the large kitchen for a 
dance, and those among the young men who could 
play on violin or flute were doing their utmost to 
provide the necessary music. 

The stranger sat watching the merry dancers 
silent and composed. Not so the mother of the 
house. Attracted by the stranger, she kept hovering 
in his vicinity, visibly losing her composure as the 
spell of his presence made itself felt. 

At last when the young performers had wearied 
of trying to play, the stranger drew his violin from 
out the folds of his cloak. Have you ever seen an 
old man play the violin, and noticed how lovingly 
he holds the beautiful instrument? As a mother 
caressing her child does the true lover of music softly 
hold his violin to his breast, and with head bent 
down to catch each whisper from the heart of the 
instrument, with eyes half closed as if to shut out 
the world from the soul to soul converse, he becomes 
forgetful of all, lost in the rapture which the poetry 
of his art awakens in his soul. 

So it was with Henry Hunt. When once he 
began to play, forgetting the r6le he had planned, 
he let his cloak, hat and wig fall aside, and became 


AFTER MANY YEARS. 


63 


deaf and lost to all else save the soft melody of the 
viol’s voice. Softly at first rose the tender music, 
as if awakening from a long sleep, stronger grew the 
strains under the loving touch of the master-hand, 
and then the music voice died away and the room 
was filled with the tender, sweet sigh which forms 
the closing bars of Life let us cherish.” 

Bursting into tears, the dear mother of the house 
threw her arms around the neck of the stranger, 
exclaiming : 

It is brother Henry ! ” 

Their emotion was so great that it was some time 
before either regained composure. The old tradition 
adds : ‘‘ And thus it was that brother and sister met 
after the lapse of many years, with hearts as tender 
and love as strong, as when in youth they had 
played side by side.” 





wnnT THE men dikds m % 




WHAT THE BEACH BIRDS KNOW. 


“The curved strand 
Of cool, gray sand 
Lies like a sickle by the sea ; 

The tide is low, 

But soft and slow 
Is creeping higher up the lea. 

The beach birds fleet. 

With twinkling feet. 

Hurry and scurry to and fro, 

And sip and chat 
Of this and that 

Which you and I may never know.” 

John White Chadwick. 

the shore of the majestic Atlantic, somewhere 
^ between 30 and 45 degrees of latitude, there 
stands a quaint, old-fashioned light-house which 
rests on the edge of a bluff, and looks out calmly 

67 


WHAT THE BEACH BIEDS KNOW. 


on the boisterous play of the ever restless waves. 
The shore at this part is curved in a long, graceful 
sweep, and at either end of the wide circle a point 
runs far out into the sea, making a beautiful, but 
dangerous bit of coast. Beyond a bar extends, of 
which at low tide the rocks and banks can be seen 
from the shore, but over which the wild waves dash 
with glorious majesty when the tide comes in. At 
either end, and in the centre of this indenture, a 
light-house throws out its guarding flame, making a 
triangle of light warning the mariner of the treach- 
erous rocks within. Yet in spite of these precau- 
tions, and the vigilance of the coast-guard, many a 
goodly vessel is dashed to pieces against the cruel 
rocks, and the wreckage strewn on the gray beach 
mutely tells the sad tale of disaster. 

The two light-houses on the points jutting far out 
into the sea are fine, modern specimens of scientific 
architecture ; but the one in the centre is old and 
quaint, and showing plainly that it dates before the 
era of daring engineering. A powerful flash-light 
has replaced the simple lamp of old, which seems 
strangely out of place in the antique tower. But 
the light-house has accommodated itself to its modem 


WHAT THE BEACH BIRDS KNOW. 


69 


occupant, and rears its head proudly when the strong 
light flashes out over the dark waters. At the l)ase 
of the tower is a long, low house, stretching off 
behind the bluff, and in this, some years ago, lived 
the light-house keeper, his daughter, and an old 
woman as domestic. 

John Rush, a sturdy son of the sea, had on the 
death of his wife, given up his seafaring life, and 
devoted himself to his baby girl, Anne. The 
Government appointed him keeper of this old light- 
house, and there he moved with his precious charge, 
content to lead a life of comparative inaction, and 
finding all the novelty he desired in the fresh 
delights with which the developing nature of the 
child presented him day by day. There could be 
no better school in which to rear a young child than 
by the sea, where the constant music of the waves 
remind one of the Voice of God, and where His 
Power is so manifest. So John and Anne grew year 
by year, the one advancing in gentleness and sim- 
plicity, the other in the graceful, beautiful ways of 
a lovely child. The old roving nature of the father 
was subdued, and the better side of his strong being 


70 


WHAT THE BEACH BIRDS KNOW. 


gradually strengthened in the sweet companionship 
of the little child. 

The rude men of the fishing-town laughed at first, 
and their wives uttered many a wise prediction as to 
the incapacity of a man to bring up a baby. But 
their tongues were quieted in time when they saw 
the child thrive and lose none of the tender grace of 
a baby girl under the strange care of a father nurse. 
His mode was peculiar, it must be confessed, for at 
night when all the wee heads in the world are 
pillowed and bright eyes closed in sleep, baby Anne 
could have been found up in the light-house tower 
keeping watch with her father, and crowing with 
delight at the huge light when he went to trim the 
lamp. This did well enough when Anne was a wee 
child, but these nocturnal watches were impossible 
when the time came for her to go to school. So 
with many a misgiving, for he had been courted 
by most the women-folks of the town, John decided 
to employ a house-keeper to govern his simple 
establishment. His choice was a good one, and 
after the first upheaval of masculine methods, and 
the settling down into a systematic mode of life, the 
humble house presented a cozy picture of simple 


WHAT THE BEACH BIRDS KNOW. 


71 


comfort. Margaret Powres had lost her husband 
and boy in one of the winter storms years before, 
and with them her love had died and was buried in 
their watery grave. But a pity for the motherless 
little girl filled her heart, and so generous was she 
in bestowing it that Anne never felt the sorrow 
which would have overshadowed a less fortunate 
child’s life. 

Year after year found the little household much 
the same. The infirmity of age gathered around 
John so gradually that he was still vigorous when 
most men have given up active life. Anne 
developed into as sweet a maiden as ever was seen. 
She was like some rare exotic transplanted by fairy 
hands from its sheltered home to this sturdy, rock- 
bound coast; but so well did her tender nature 
adjust itself to its rude surroundings that one never 
wondered at finding this sweet flower bloonjing in 
the sand. She was as modest as the pink star- 
shaped flowers one finds sometimes growing by the 
sea-shore, and which surprises us by its gentle 
dignity when on the parent stem, and which droops 
immediately it is culled. Such was Anne. A simple 
little flower, strengthened and beautified by the loving 


72 


WHAT THE BEACH BIRDS KNOW. 


salt breezes, standing with a quiet grace all her own 
in her rough sea-side home, and repelling by the 
innocent purity of her sweet soul, the advances of 
the gay, thoughtless world. 

The fishing-town which was Anne’s home had, 
little by little, come into prominence, till at last it 
was a fashionable sea-side resort. Attractive at first 
to the lovers of nature for its grand beauty and 
simplicity, its fame spread, and alas ! for the peace 
of the honest fisher-folks ! great caravansaries 
sprung up like weeds over night, and the gay world 
thronged to the heretofore quiet spot to amuse itself 
at the expense of the old happiness of the little town. 

A party of gay young folks seeking for adventure 
one day, penetrated into the sacred home circle of 
the quaint old light-house, and from that time there 
was little peace for Anne. Party after party came 
ostensibly to be instructed in the wonders of the 
fiash-light, but really to feast their eyes on the 
modest beauty of gentle little Anne. The haughty 
ladies would raise their lorgnettes and gaze at the 
sweet young girl, and the men, a trifle less rude than 
their fair companions perhaps, would offer her com- 
pliments and civilities which were enigmas to the 


WHAT THE BEACH BIRDS KNOW. 


73 


unsophisticated child. The cool gravity with which 
she received their attentions was a rebuke to these 
thoughtless worldlings, and her innocence shielded 
her from the havoc their admiration might have 
made of her happiness. 

‘^As fair as Nereid! A veritable sea-nymph!” 
said the men. An accomplished coquette ! ” re- 
marked the envious women, who would have given 
much to have possessed her fresh young complexion 
and wealth of golden-brown hair. 

But Heaven protected the little maiden, and at 
the end of each season when the flock of gay people 
left, and the great hotels stood like ghosts, empty 
and deserted, and the town relapsed into its old-time 
quiet, Anne and John would rejoice in the rest which 
came after the flight of the gay birds of fashion. 

One Fall, however, a new element appeared on 
this famous coast. Government resolved to do its 
utmost to lessen the danger to navigation, so a corps 
of engineers were sent to prospect. At their head 
was Basil Marshall, a young Englishman. 

* * * 

* * 

A gay lad of eighteen years came whistling down 
the dingy old street, his hat pushed back from his 
6 


74 


WHAT THE BEACH BIRDS KNOW. 


smooth young forehead, his hands in his pockets, 
boylike, and by his bright eyes, his elastic step and 
the sprightliness of his entire personality showing 
that life was a dream of joy to Basil Marshall, son 
and heir of Thos. Marshall of the great firm of 
Marshall & Co. 

Turning in the great black doorway of a huge 
warehouse, and merrily stopping to joke with drivers, 
porters and clerks, he passed through the dark build- 
ing like a sunbeam trying to cheer and warm a 
dungeon by its presence. Finally he came to the 
glass door marked Private Office, and in this he 
entered with the freedom and absence of awe which 
showed him to be the son of the house, but which 
was really only the result of the whole-souled 
cheeriness which was one of the boy’s greatest 
charms. Basil Marshall would have entered any 
man’s office in that same cheery manner that 
bright morning when all the world seemed so full 
of joy. 

^‘Good morning. Pop. Good morning, Mr. 
Wise. Why, what’s the matter. Father?” he 
asked, changing his tone, as neither father nor clerk 
answered his salutation. 


WHAT THE BEACH BIEDS KNOW. 


75 


Thos. Marshall, a pompous, well fed looking man 
was standing near his desk which was covered with 
papers. The desk drawers and the safe were open, 
the books in disorder and the whole office showed 
that something of importance had disturbed its usual 
quiet routine. Both men looked grave and troubled. 
The father’s face was a picture of anger, disap- 
pointment and injured pride ; while over the clerk’s 
countenance there was an expression of cunning 
satisfaction veiled in well-feigned anxiety. 

Basil stood looking at the two men. 

Can I do anything for you. Father? ” he asked. 

The old man turned on him in rage. 

Yes,” he said, tell me where are the hundred 
pounds you stole last night. Mr. Wise tells me you 
were the last one in the office, that you closed the 
safe, and also that you said you would ‘have to 
raise some money if you had to steal it.’ ” 

“ I did say that. Father, but it was only in fun, 
and I closed the safe, but I did not steal the money. 
Mother gave me five pounds this morning, and I 
paid the bill I owed.” 

“ Surely, Father,” he added piteously, “ you can 
not think I would steal.” 


76 


WHAT THE BEACH BIRDS KNOW. 


Words followed words, the wily clerk dexterously 
fanning the flame of the father’s wrath, and bring- 
ing evidence upon evidence against the son. Basil 
stood before his accusers with the courage of inno- 
cence, but his father was so well under the influence 
of his rage that he could see nothing but black 
crime in his son, and his very calmness was dis- 
torted into an assumed bravado. Finally, with a 
curse, Thos. Marshall bade his son begone, and never 
again cross the threshold of his house. 

^‘You are no son of mine,” said the old man, 
and I will not have my house polluted by a thief.” 
Basil turned to leave the office, but on reaching 
the door came back. 

May I not go home to see my Mother once 
more ? ” asked the poor boy. 

Your Mother , shrieked the old man. You 
have no Mother. You are an outcast. Go ! ” 

The boy stood gazing at his father, all' the fresh 
brightness of youth gone — a pale, haggard man 
replacing the laughing boy of an hour back. 

Could it be true ? Did he really mean it ? Was 
he never more to see his Mother?” thought the 
poor boy. Wealth, luxury, position were nothing. 
— But his Mother ! 


WHAT THE BEACH BIEDS KNOW. 


77 


“ May God forgive you, Father. Good morning, 
Mr. Wise.^^ And with his head bowed down, a 
strange, haunted look on his young face he passed 
out among the astonished employees, and was gone 
— an outcast in the great wide world. 

* * * * 

* * * 

Emerson says, The ornament of a house is the 
friends who frequent it. There is no event greater 
in life than the appearance of new persons about 
our hearth.’’ Anne in her simplicity had never 
even heard of Emerson, but some such thoughts as 
these floated through her brain when she saw the 
humble sitting room of the light-house beautified 
by the manly presence of Basil Marshall. Thrown 
at first by force of business with the keeper of the 
light-house, and being obliged to frequent his house 
to carry out his work, could anything be more nat- 
ural than that once there, Cupid should begin to use 
his time-honored weapons ? Basil was a revelation 
to Anne, for never in the course of her secluded 
life had she seen such a man. 

^^But he seems so sad,” thought the tender- 
hearted girl. Oh ! if father and I could only do 
something to make him happy !•” 


78 


WHAT THE BEACH BIRDS KNOW. 


At first Basil only came occasionally, but before 
many weeks every evening found him wending his 
way to the light-house, where he knew a hearty 
welcome awaited him from John, and a shy, timid 
blush of pleasure from Anne. For the first time 
in the ten weary years since he had been driven 
from home, peace was filling his soul, and in his 
love for Anne he found a joy which his sorrow- 
stricken heart had never known. 

But, was he, an outcast from his father’s heart 
and home, an accused thief, worthy to appear in her 
presence, much less to love her ? ” he asked himself. 
For one whole long month Basil wrestled with this 
torturing thought, and instead of spending the 
evenings with John and Anne, he wandered up and 
down the coast night after night like a distressed 
spirit. 

Poor little Anne ! bereft of the companionship 
which had grown so strangely sweet, she grieved 
for her lost friend, and blamed herself as the cause 
of his loss. Going up, as was her wont, to trim 
the lamp one night, she spied the dark figure pa- 
cing up and down the deserted beach. Her eyes, 
made more keen by love, recognized Basil, and after 


WHAT THE BEACH BIRDS KNOW. 


79 


that as he night after night walked the beach con- 
sumed with the despairing thoughts born of sad 
retrospection, Anne watched him from the tower. 
Can we not believe that the love and pity which 
surged through her true heart, and which found 
relief in prayer, were converted into blessings which 
strengthened the solitary man ? 

One dark, stormy night Basil went to the light- 
house. It had been a perfect morning, but ere the 
day had fairly begun, a sudden storm had arisen 
which grew fiercer as the hours advanced. A pic- 
ture of my own life,” said Basil, who had grown 
fanciful from leading a lonely life. He found John 
and Anne both in the tower, John watchful and his 
ears straining to catch the sound above the roar of 
the angry waves which might come from a distressed 
ship. Anne was on her knees. 

Father, save those at sea to-night,” she prayed, 
using unconsciously the words of the sweet poetess. 

“ Come down stairs with me,” said Basil, almost 
sternly. “ The Coast Guards are out. You can do 
nothing more than they, and I must talk to you. 
I can stand this reserve no longer.” 


80 


WHAT THE BEACH BIRDS KNOW. 


They followed him down into the cozy sitting- 
room. John poked the fire and then drew his chair 
up luxuriantly to its cheerful warmth. Basil sat 
by the table with the light of the lamp full on his 
face. He seemed to seek its glow. Anne took her 
place at her father’s side — John lighted his pipe 
and offering another to Basil said in his hearty way. 

Come now, ray boy, what is it you want to tell 
us?” 

Basil waved back the proffered pipe, and in sim- 
ple, manly words told the sad story of his life. 

On being driven out by his father and forbidden 
to see his mother, his first thoughts were of despair. 
His youthful pride prevented him from seeking 
advice of his friends, and he determined to leave 
England at once. 

Thanks to the generosity of his dear mother that 
morning, the sale of his watch, studs and ring, he 
raised enough money to procure a steerage passage 
to America, with a little over to provide for the 
first days after landing. He had been studying 
civil engineering at home, and determined if possi- 
to follow his profession in America. By dint of 
preseverance, hard work and will power he con- 


WHAT THE BEACH BIRDS KNOW. 


81 


trived to live, till at last he had succeeded in obtain- 
ing a position in the Coast Survey. Since then all 
had been clear sailing ; but God alone knows how 
he suffered the first few years. 

“ But, you Americans are God’s own people,” he 
said, and, as I have told you, I found work and 
wages when in England I would have been forced 
to starve.” 

By depriving himself of every comfort, keeping 
only enough to barely sustain life, he had been able 
to pay his father the lost hundred pounds. He had 
sent it to his father’s lawyer, and had each time 
received the receipt for the money accompanied with 
a few hard, dry words, such as the world bestows 
on a convict. 

Since I have paid off the debt, I have written 
letter after letter to my father, but each has been 
returned unopened,” and Basil drew from his 
pocket a package of letters and threw them on the 
table. 

So I am deemed an outcast and a thief, and this 
is why I have discontinued my visits to this house.” 

With all my heart I love your pure, beautiful 
daughter, Mr. Bush,” he continued, but I would 


82 


WHAT THE BEECH BIRDS KNOW. 


not insult you by oiFering her the heart of a despised 
outcast.’^ 

You would’nt ! ” cried John with tears running 
down his rugged cheeks, and clasping Basil in a 
hearty embrace. The only trouble is that you are 
too good for us. You are a gentleman, and we are 
only simple folks,” he added in a trembling voice. 

My poor Mary, Anne’s mother, was but a poor 
lassie, and I am a rough man. Your father is a — ” 

Mean, low, purse-proud brute ! My mother, 
God bless her! while she is the sweetest, dearest 
mother on earth, is only the daughter of as simple 
people as yourselves. My father has made money, 
and with each pound has so swelled with pride that 
he is like a fat frog,” said Basil irreverently. 

After great mental strain human nature is apt to 
seek relief in absurdity, and Basil laughed with a 
nervous energy foreign to the grave man they had 
known. All the while Anne had stood with tearless, 
wide open eyes riveted on Basil’s face. 

‘‘Now that you know all, will you have me, 
little Anne?” asked Basil, holding open his arms. 

“ My love, my love 1 ” cried the girl with her 
head pillowed on his breast. 


WHAT THE BEACH BIRDS KNOW. 83 

It was a happy evening spent at the old light- 
house. Basil gathered up his discarded letters and 
thrust them into the open fire, not however, before 
the address was indelibly impressed on Anne’s active 
mind. 

It was late when the trio parted. Anne went to 
the door with her lover. 

See,” she said, the stars are shining and the 
storm has all cleared away. So shall the sorrow of 
your life, my love.” 

* 5fS * * 

* * * 

Had little Anne turned schemer ? Why was it 
that there was such an air of mystery about her all 
day long, and why had she slipped olF by herself just 
at dusk ? There were two bright red spots on her 
cheeks when she handed a letter to the old post- 
master of the town and asked him to put a foreign 
stamp on it. 

Oh ! ho !” chuckled the old man, but Anne 
was off before he read the inscription, Mrs. Thos. 

Marshall, 57 Place, Birmingham, England,” 

and was back home and quietly laying the table 
for supper before he had gotten over his astonish- 


ment. 


84 


WHAT THE BEACH BIRDS KNOW. 


Such a letter as Anne had written ! No raother^s 
heart thirsting and hungry for news of her boy was 
ever refreshed by a more tender, explicit and con- 
soling epistle. All these years BasiPs name had 
been forbidden in that pompous, gaudy house. 
Never once had the poor mother heard of him, for 
the stern, proud father had never even told that the 
money was paid. And she had mourned him as 
dead, and had secretly grieved for him till she was 
worn and aged with emotions subdued. And now, 
fresh from the loving hand of a young girl came the 
glorious news of his brave struggle, his success, and 
then timidly of his love for her and her love for 
him. The thoughtful girl had even enclosed his 
photograph taken with his corps of men, and show- 
ing him in all the strength of his developed 
beauty. 

^'Send him some words of love and you will 
have always the grateful prayers of Anne Rush,’’ 
closed this wonderful letter. 

One week, two weeks, three weeks. 

Oh ! was the mother dead ! ” thought Anne. 
‘^And would Basil never receive her blessing.” 
But, no. Heaven is too kind for that. The storms 


WHAT THE BEACH BIKDS KNOW. 


85 


of Basil’s life were past^ and before him lay only 
love and happiness. 

He came bounding over the sands one evening. 

See ! ” he cried. A letter from Mother, and 
wondrous news from Father.” The letter was 
read, and the news. What was that? — The old 
confidential clerk of Marshall & Co., had died leav- 
ing behind him a document showing how he had by 
a cleverly concealed system of fraud robbed the firm 
of large sums of money. At the time of the theft 
of* which Basil was accused, he had not time to cover 
his act, and hence his cowardly shifting of the blame 
on his employer’s son. The misery and disgrace 
were all over, and he could hold up his head. 

Disgrace,” said John. There was no disgrace, 
for you were innocent.” 

Will you go home, Basil ? ” asked Anne timidly. 

Not till you go with me as my wife, my dar- 
ling, and then it will be only to pay a visit. My 
sweet bird would droop away from her native beach, 
and I would never be happy in England again.” 

The Winter and Spring flew by, and Summer 
found a model Life Saving Station standing on 
guard. But John had watched that other edifice 


86 


WHAT THE BEACH BIRDS KNOW. 


which was being built of the gold of pure love, and 
the steel of truth and constancy. It saddened him 
at first, but as he became more and more convinced 
of BasiPs sterling qualities, and saw the genuine 
earnestness of his love, his selfishness, for such he 
deemed it, gave way to a generous relinquishing of 
the first place in his child’s heart, and a desire to do 
all in his power to further her happiness. Besides 
he knew he would have them both to live with him, 
for had not Basil promised that he would make 
America his home ? 

Anne had a habit of always going out to watch 
the tide come in. She and the little sand pipers, as 
the simple fisher-folks call the beach-birds, would 
often be the only watchers of this most beautiful act 
of Nature. For years they been her usual compan- 
ions, but through all the soft Spring, a tall, handsome 
man had found that he too was fascinated by the 
music of the in-rushing tide. 

With a smile on his kindly face John watched 
them one evening. As they stood hand in hand, 
and he saw the rays of the setting sun bathing them 
in his glory, sailor-like he thought it a good omen 
of their future peace and happiness. 


WHAT THE BEACH BIRDS KNOW. 


87 


We will leave them in the undisturbed enjoyment 
of the beautiful scene before them, where, like the 
little birds playing at their feet, they talk — 

“ . . . . and chat 
Of this and that 

Which you and I may never know.” 












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AUNT SARAH’S WEDDING BOOTS. 


i i m^HAT, you never heard the story of Aunt 
Sarah’s wedding boots ? Dear, dear ! to 
think that Will never told you ! Why ! I can’t see 
how you ever got through your courting without 
hearing that story. And when you were getting 
your trousseau — why it seems to me he must have 
told you when you talked about your shoes.” 

But Aunty dear, I never said anything to Will 
about my shoes.” 

‘^You didn’t? Well, I declare! Never said 
anything to Will about your shoes. Here, child, 
hold up your foot. As neat a little foot as ever I 
saw ! ” 

I can’t imagine what Will was thinking about,” 
continued the old lady. Lovers don’t talk about 
boots ? Well, perhaps not, dear. But, when Will 

91 


92 


AUNT SAEAH’s wedding BOOTS. 


saw that mite of a foot, it seems to me he must have 
thought of shoes. There, child, don^t hug me too 
hard. I am sure John and I talked about shoes in 
our courting days. To think that you have been in 
the family three months and havenT even heard of 
Aunt Sarah ! Well ! I must tell you about her 
myself.” 

^^Yes, Aunty dear, and about your sweet self 
too,” said Alice. 

Aunt Mary sat in an easy chair by the open fire, 
a sweet old lady with short white curls around a 
lovely, smiling face, which in its strong beauty 
showed that she had borne the heat and burden of 
the day bravely, and was now patiently awaiting 
the long deferred reward. ^^Old age is the crown 
of dignity” we are told, and truly Aunt Mary 
wore her honors with all the grace and pathetic 
grandeur which marks those who have led a long 
life of holiness. Aged as she was, she retained her 
sight and wonderful memory, and it was only when 
she tried to walk that one remembered that she was 
old. But there were always willing young arms 
for her to lean on, devoted nieces and nephews to 
aid the feeble steps of one whose heart was every- 


A.UNT Sarah’s wedding boots. 


93 


body’ s resting place, and the depository of all their 
joys and sorrows. Aunt Mary was a lovely old 
lady, an ideal of quiet happy old age. She was 
the embodiment of cheerfulness, and always happy 
and gay, for under the depths of the sweet religious 
feeling which had governed her life and was now 
casting its sunshine far into the twilight of her 
decline, she possessed a rare fund of good spirits 
which had outlasted the strength of vigorous 
womanhood, met trouble and pain with a smile, 
and enabled her to see ever the bright side of the 
clouds which overshadow all lives. 

Alice, the fair young bride, sat on a low stool at 
Aunt Mary’s feet, with her golden head resting 
gently against the old lady’s knee, and with her 
soft white hand tenderly stroking the wrinkled, but 
beautiful one held out so lovingly. 

They made a sweet picture. The young wife 
eager, full of ambition, anxious to taste the bitter- 
sweets of life. — The old Mother calmly resting, her 
work done, husband and children gone before, and 
she patiently awaiting the setting of life’s sun. 
The past and all its sorrows and joys lay behind her. 
— She had now but a little while to wait, and the 


94 


AUNT Sarah’s wedding boots. 


husband of her youth, and her little children would 
be her’s again, never to be separated. 

Can not the young wife, this sweet, fair Alice, 
learn the lesson of life, the lesson of loving, suffer- 
ing and patience, from this tender-hearted old 
Mother left so long to be a guide and support to 
the young members of the family ? 

I sat quietly watching the sweet picture made by 
these two beautiful women, many thoughts surging 
through my brain ; but my prosy meditations were 
dissipated by the cheery voice of Aunt Mary ask- 
ing me to bring her the box in which she kept her 
precious souvenirs of the past. 

Soon we were all three laughing and crying in 
turn over the contents of the treasure box.” 
Aunt Mary’s sweet old face would be suffused in 
blushes when some token of her own love story 
would come to light, and then again tears would 
come to the calm, tender eyes over a baby’s shoe 
half worn, or a little curl cut from the shining head 
ere the grave hid it forever. 

Ah ! it was a happy morning — one of the days to 
be remembered all through life. 


AUNT Sarah’s wedding boots. 


95 


But finally Aunt Mary took out a little bundle 
tied with ribbon which had long since been yellow 
with age. Carefully unwrapping the soft paper, a 
pair of slim, tiny gaiters , — hoots Aunt Mary called 
them, — were revealed, and with them a closely writ- 
ten sheet of old-fashioned blue letter paper. 

My eyes have gotten too old to read Aunt 
Sarah’s story, so you read it to us, child,” said Aunt 
Mary. 

I took the paper reverently, and with my eyes 
full of tears, began — ^^The story of my Wedding 
Boots, written by me, Sarah King, to be sent to my 
brother, Edward Yates, who is far away searching 
for health in the soft air of the South.” 

‘‘You know, my dears,” interrupted Aunt Mary, 
“ that the Edward Yates to whom this letter is 
addressed, was my Father, your Grandfather, and 
Aunt Sarah was his favorite sister. He spent several 
years in the far South, and while he was there his 
sister met Silas King, and married him. But her 
love for her brother only strengthened with time, as 
true love always does, and when he came back they 
were as united as when they had played together as 
children.” 


96 


AUNT Sarah’s wedding boots. 


But, Aunty dear, how is it that you have the 
shoes ? It seems to me that Aunt Sarah’s children 
ought to have them,” said Alice. 

Oh ! ” said dear Aunt Mary with a smile, 
father was so delighted with this long letter and 
the story of the boots, that when he came back home 
he begged Aunt Sarah to give them to him. He 
said he hadn’t been here to get any of the wedding 
cake, so he might, at least, have the famous boots. 
So she gave them to him. Father always treasured 
them, and I have often seen him take them out and 
look at them lovingly ; and he would always tell us 
some tender little story of his beloved sister.” 

But, read the letter dear,” she added. 

I read as follows : 

Forrest Hill, 

January 30, 1798. 

My Dear Brother Edward: 

I feel that I must give you a full and exact 
account of the events of the past month, during 
which time I have changed from pretty little 
Sarah” as you are so fond of calling me, into 
Mistress Silas King, the happy wife of the best man 


AUNT SARAH'S WEDDING BOOTS. 


97 


on earth. No laughing, Ned, at my wifely remarks. 
I would not say so were it not true. The only thing 
which has marred my happiness has been that my 
dear brother, the companion of all the joys and 
sorrows of my life has been far away from me in 
this time of my greatest happiness. Amid the 
laughing faces which have surrounded me I have 
missed yours, my beloved brother ; and when gaiety 
was at its height, and it would seem that we had 
reached the acme of pleasure, I have felt lonely and 
sad, looking in vain for the one dearest to me of all 
my family. But I must not make you sad. 'Twould 
be a poor sort of comfort to send my dear boy who 
is off searching for health, which I trust you have 
long since found. Your last letter told us that all 
the bad symptoms had left. Let the next one assure 
us that they left to stay. 

And now, Ned, you are anxious to hear all about 
my new home and surroundings, just as anxious as 
I am to tell you. Father wrote you about my 
engagement, and what a brave, gallant man has 
honored me and you by choosing me for his wife. 
Wait till you see my husband ! I cannot write 
about him. Tears fall and blur the page as I cast 


98 


AUNT SARAH^S WEDDING BOOTS. 


around in my mind for words to express his manly 
beauty, his noble, generous character, his loving 
heart, and above all his love for his wee wifey’^ 
as he calls me. 

I have been here in my new home two weeks, and 
I already love it. You know the place, so I shall 
not try to describe its many beauties. Little did 
we think that bright Spring morning we rode 
through these grounds with the Thorntons, and 
stopped to admire the house, that in three years I 
should return as its mistress. I did not even know 
Silas then by sight — now I feel as if I must have 
known him all my life. 

1 am writing you a very long letter. Well, dear, 
I am a bit home-sick. The girls, with Letty and 
Prue, started for home yesterday, and this is my 
first day alone in my new grandeur as Mistress of 
this noble old place. Silas is all I could wish, and 
I am very happy. But I feel a little strange, and so 
I am chatting to you to keep up my spirits. 

Now, I must tell you about our wedding, and the 
catastrophe of my boots — or the tragedy, I might 
call it. You know how I always have criticised 
any of our friends who made a great show at their 


AUNT SAEAH^s WEDDING BOOTS. 


99 


weddings ; so I determined that my wedding cos- 
tume should be a model of unassuming, quiet beauty. 
I selected a light gray silk which struck me as being 
most bride-like. Then wishing all my costume to 
accord, I had my bonnet made of a piece of the silk. 

My thoughts then turned to my boots. On con- 
sulting old Hans, the shoe-maker, imagine my dis- 
may on having him tell me that never had he seen 
any prunella to match my silk. Have it I must,’’ I 
said ; so the poor old man wrote even to Boston and 
New York, and finally found a piece of goods which 
exactly matched my silk. I enclose a sample of 
each, so you can see that my fancy was gratified. 

I had given him three months in which to make 
my boots, but they never came home till one week 
before the day appointed for our wedding. Well, 
the boots arrived, and so did the day on which I 
was to turn my back on my old home and maiden 
state, and start forth on my new life glorious in my 
gray prunellas. Behold me, Ned, clothed all in gray 
from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet ! 

It was a bitterly cold day, but clear and bright. 
Carriage after carriage drove off from our home 
filled with pretty girls in gay attire, each with her 


100 


AUNT Sarah’s wedding boots. 


cavalier. Mother and Father had gone ahead, and 
just as I was about to step in my carriage with 
Silas, old Aunt Phebe rushed out declaring that I 
would freeze to def ’ in dem no sense boots,” and 
producing from her pocket a heavy pair of worsted 
stockings, which nolens volens,” I was forced to 
slip over my dainty foot gear. 

So off* I drove, happy in the consciousness that for 
once our old Church would see a bride all in accord 
— if I thought at all. But, I was in such a flutter, 
and so nervous that I hardly remember anything. 
I have an indistinct recollection of hearing our old 
Pastor giving us his blessing, and of then turning to 
come down the aisle, which seemed to me a sea of 
faces. 

But, Ned, dear, sympathetic old Ned, imagine if 
you can, my horror ! In stepping back into the 
carriage the wedded wife of handsome Silas King, 
I happened to glance downward. 

After months of anxious waiting, much trouble 
and expense, I had walked up and down that aisle 
— in what? 

Not my beloved, dainty gray boots. No ! In all 
their primitive whiteness, old Aunt Phebe’s worsted 


AUNT SAEAH^S WEDDING BOOTS. 


101 


stockings covered the objects of my weeks of mental 
anguish. 

“ Oh ! Silas,” I cried, just look ! ” 

Well, dear, what is the difference, so your feet 
were warm.” 

And with these first words of Silas as my hus- 
band, I will close my letter. 



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HILDA. 


®HE quaint old city of Strasburg lay asleep in 
^ the golden glow of a hot afternoon sun one day 
in early June, A. D. 175-. 

The waters of the Rhine glistened in the sun- 
light — the river flowed on smoothly and gently, 
reflecting the image of the glowing clouds on its 
placid bosom. 

The world looked beautiful and calm — sorrow 
would seem a stranger on this fair scene — care and 
trouble could not dare to intrude on the tranquillity 
of the afternoon quiet. 

The river, the beloved Rhine, flowed on and on, 
the ebb and flow of its tiny waves making sweet 
music to the ears of the happy. 

But, alas ! for Hilda Brawner ! 

Away in the distance the sunlight caught again 

8 105 


106 


HILDA. 


and again the white sails of the vessel which was 
taking away her hearths beloved — her betrothed. 

The sound of the water made no music for her — 
the splashing against the rocks on which she stood, 
the glistening little waves, the whirling of the 
eddies, nay, even the soft breeze springing up as the 
day declined, whispered, he is gone, he is gone.” 

Long and silently had she stood, gazing with 
wide open, grief-strained eyes at the fast disappear- 
ing vessel. 

Finally, one more sunlit view of the white sails, 
and it had passed from her sight. 

A turn in the river, a quiver of sunlight against 
a full rigged vessel, a sound as of the rushing of 
many waters, and Hilda awoke to the realization 
that she was alone. 

^^Come, little one, it is time to return home. 
The good Mother will scold us for staying so long ; ” 
and the venerable old Grandfather laid his hand 
gently on Hilda’s arm as if to lead her away. 

They had bidden Johann farewell at the city 
wharf, and then at the earnest pleading of Hilda, 
the Grandfather had driven her to this point a few 
miles below the city where there was an extensive 


HILDA. 


107 


view of the river, and from where she could watch 
the vessel for many, many miles. 

The cumbrous sailing vessels of those days were 
slow, and one’s dear ones were not snatched out of 
sight as in this age of Ocean racers. 

So little Hilda had stood through all the glory of 
the afternoon with her eyes riveted on the fast- 
fading vessel, oblivious and forgetful of all else. 

Come, little one, the Angelus has long since 
rung — nay, even now I hear the Cathedral bell 
tolling the De profundis.” 

The old man reverently bared his head and stood 
motionless, while Hilda, according to the ancient 
custom, recited the touching Psalm. 

One more long look at the now deserted river, 
and with a sigh as if from a soul but lately awakened 
to pain, Hilda turned to follow the venerable Grand- 
father who had waited patiently so long. 

Father, father, I cannot stay in this wretched 
country. I will follow my beloved to America.” 

Softly, softly, little one ! How can you, a child, 
cross the great seas ? ” 

I can, and I will do it. I will not stay where the 
cursed laws make my beloved an exile. Lisbeth will 


108 


HILDA. 


go with me. We are betrothed, and I have a right 
to be at Johann’s side. In six weeks another vessel 
will sail. I will go on it.” 

Hilda was an orphan, and this can somewhat 
explain why she was allowed to carry out what 
would appear to be the idle threat of a love-sick 
maiden. 

Her parents had died when she was a tiny child, 
and the dear Grandparents had brought her up 
surrounded by every luxury wealth could pro- 
cure. 

While she was yet but a child she was betrothed 
to Johann Ruhl. 

The little ones had grown up side by side, and, 
as was not always the case in these pre-arranged 
marriages, they were deeply attached to one another. 

A few weeks previous the formal betrothal had 
been celebrated with great rejoicing, and the day for 
the wedding was fixed at an early date. 

Life looked fair and sweet to the young lovers, 
and preparations for the wedding were merrily 
progressing. 

The presents from relations and friends had begun 
to be sent. Quaint silver, costly china and glass. 


HILDA. 


109 


even massive pieces of furniture with which to fur- 
nish the house the Grandfather was building, had 
been received. 

A thunder-clap broke on the sunny happiness of 
this scene. 

The King issued a proclamation that all the 
youths of twenty-one and more should be enlisted 
for the standing army, for a period of seven years. 
None were to be exempt. 

Great was the lamentation through all the broad 
land of Prussia. 

The wealthy sought to buy exemption for their 
sons by bribe, and the poor besought those in power 
to spare at least the sons who were the support of 
their old age. 

But the King, Frederick II., was inflexible, and 
the old conscript law was enforced with more rigor 
as it met with such bitter opposition. 

War was the ruling passion of Frederick’s life, 
and the army was his first thought, hence the youth 
of his country were sacrificed to his relentless 
ambition. 

Johann Buhl was a proud, strong-willed youth, 
and his spirit rebelled against this unjust law. 


110 


HILDA. 


He would not bend his neck to this joke of seven 
years slavery, and he resolved to escape tyranny by 
flight. 

Not that he was a coward. His daring and 
almost foolhardy courage in the struggle for inde- 
pendence in the country of his adoption, proved his 
character ; but he would bow to no tyrant. 

The civil service and detective force must have 
been very meagre in spite of Frederick’s rigor, for 
Johann sailed away from Strasburg, disguised it is 
true, as an old man, but taking with him large 
chests of valuables, and with his spacious pockets 
well lined with sterling silver. 

* * * * 

* * * 

Six weeks after, true to her resolve, Hilda stood 
on an outgoing vessel, the Werra, with her nurse 
Lisbeth, as companion. 

She had resisted all entreaties of friends and 
relations. No picture of failure which the imagina- 
tion of anxious friends conjured up could daunt her 
loving heart. 

To all she answered the same: must go — 

Johann needs me. He will know I am coming, and 
will be there to meet me.” 


HILDA. 


Ill 


She was imbued with all the homely superstitions 
of her nationality, consequently had perfect confi- 
dence in the promptings of her loving heart. 

She felt that Johann needed her, and that as her 
heart went out to him, he would feel the influence 
of its loving solicitude, and know that she was 
coming. 

She was indeed a superstitious little maiden, but 
when we think how her beloved had been torn from 
her embrace by cruel laws we can forgive her, can 
we not ? 

Surely she was an ardent and true lover. 

Finally the Grandparents had, against their 
better judgment, yielded to her prayers and tears, 
and though they were criticised and condemned by 
all their friends for their folly, they set to work to 
fit her out for the long and perilous journey. 

Lisbeth, her nurse, gladly consented to accom- 
pany her darling. Old as she was, she still possessed 
the elements which make a roving nature. 

Indeed it was whispered among her fellow-ser- 
vants that she had a streak of dark gipsy blood in 
her veins ; and when they saw her delight at the 
prospects of this journey to an unknown laud, they 


112 


HILDA. 


gravely shook their heads, and uttered many a wise 
saying as to the danger of trusting the beautiful 
young Fraulein with only an old woman. 

If the truth were known, they were, one and all, 
just a bit jealous that Hilda should prefer old Lis- 
beth to their more youthful selves. 

A hope had sprung up in their hearts when they 
heard of her resolve, for they were possessed with 
secret longings for the land of freedom. 

At last the day came for the sailing of the Werra. 

Hilda with all her relations, uncles, aunts and 
cousins to the third and fourth degree, had gone to 
early Mass in the old Cathedral, and knelt before 
the altar to receive the blessing of heaven for the 
last time. 

The hands of the aged Pastor trembled as he 
laid them on the golden head of brave little Hilda, 
one of the youngest lambs of his flock. 

It was he who had baptised her, prepared her for 
the reception of all the Sacraments, been present and 
signed the betrothal contract, and he had hoped to 
perform the wedding ceremony. 

Alas ! instead, he was bestowing a farewell bless- 
ing ! 


HILDA. 


113 


When the iron hand of law is laid on a country, 
many a fair promise is crushed by its weight. 

The sun caught the golden ringlets of Hilda’s 
head, and the gentle breeze from the river kissed 
her fair cheeks as she stood on the deck of the ves- 
sel gazing earnestly at the fast receding home of her 
youth. 

On the rocks where she had stood so disconso- 
lately barely six weeks before, she saw her venerable 
Grandfather, the Good mother,” Elsie, Hans, and 
Margory, her favorite cousins, all come to watch, as 
she had done, the outgoing vessel. 

A turn in the river, a last cheer from the gallant 
crew, and home was a thing of the past. 

The wide, dim future lay before her — God alone 
knew what it held. 

Hilda was young, her heart was full of hope ; — 
and was not Johann, her beloved, waiting for her oh 
the distant shores of America ? 

* * * * 

* * * 

After a long, tedious and uneventful sail of many 
weeks, Hilda at last found herself nearing what 
was to be from henceforth the home of her 
choice. 


114 


HILDA. 


Who can tell the emotions which filled her heart 
as the ungainly, but trusty vessel turned into the 
Delaware Bay, and the green fields and trees on its 
shores welcomed the eyes weary of the monotonous 
blue of the sea ! 

The old vessel crept up the Delaware River, past 
scattered farms and little bunches of houses which 
looked poor indeed to Hilda’s eyes, accustomed as 
they were to the old palaces and churches of her 
Cathedral crowned home. 

Could it be? Had she been right? Was her 
love potent enough to affect her beloved even 
through all those weary wastes of Ocean ? ” 

Hilda closed her eyes — a grating sound struck 
her ears, as the small boat she had seen rowing 
towards them, drew alongside the Werra. 

There was a rush to the side of the vessel, 
many voices. No, there was but one voice for 
her, and when she regained consciousness she 
found herself in the arms of her beloved, her 
Johann. 

Brave little Hilda ! Not once had her courage or 
hope forsaken her all through the long voyage ; but 
here, when the goal is reached, her lover’s voice is 


HILDA. 


115 


heard, she falls into his arms a poor, trembling little 
bundle of weakness. 

Joy, like sorrow, seldom kills ; so Hilda, Johann 
and Lisbeth soon formed the merriest little party 
aboard the staunch old Werra. 

Who shall say that Hilda was not an ardent lover, 
or who question the propriety of her conduct ? 

Great love had urged her on, faith in her 
betrothed had upheld her during the weary voyage, 
and hope had strengthened her to endure all. 

That she was rewarded we know from the story 
of her long life. 

Johann Ruhl was fully worthy of the sacrifice she 
made of home and country for his sake, and never 
once did she repent of her act. 

Can we decide which was the strongest element in 
Hilda’s love. Faith or Hope ? 















THE MIDflL D0UQUET. 



THE BRIDAL BOUQUET. 


®WO friends grew up side by side — the one tall and 
^ stately, with a wealth of blue-black hair, large 
grey eyes shaded by long lashes, clear-cut, regular 
features, olive complexion through which the ebb 
and flow of the rich young blood could be plainly 
seen. A patrician beauty, who would have graced a 
castle in the feudal ages. The other, a frail, delicate 
flower. The two could be well represented by the 
stately rose, the American Beauty,^^ and the modest 
little white Violet. The comparison suited them 
very well, for the names of the friends were Kose 
and Violet. 

Though the violet has none of the stately grace 
of the American Beauty,^^ it has a beauty all its 
own, a modest, simple beauty which arouses the best 
that is within us. One can admire the haughty 

119 


120 


THE BRIDAL BOUQUET. 


American Beauty,” place it in some handsome 
vase, from whence, as we look at it with wondering 
delight, it seems to accept our homage with the calm 
dignity of a queen ; but with the modest little Vio- 
let it is different. With its tear-bedewed, drooping 
head it appeals to our love. We touch the little 
flower tenderly, raise its modest face to our own, 
fondle and caress it as we would a child, and either 
pin the fragrant blossom on our bosom, or put it in 
the finest, the most fragile glass we possess. One 
felt somewhat the same with these two friends, 
though the few who were really admitted into the 
inner sanctuary of Rose’s reserved nature knew, that 
under that cold exterior was hidden a heart as sim- 
ple and tender as Violet’s own. They had been 
friends from babyhood, these two, and life looked 
bright and gay, as leaving childhood behind, 

“Standing with reluctant feet, 

Where the brook and river meet,' 

Womanhood and childhood fleet.” 

Ah ! could the one see the sad Angel of Pain 
beckoning her onward ? Did she foresee that he was 
to be her constant companion ? It must have been, or 
else, why did her great, lovely brown eyes so soon 


THE BRIDAL BOUQUET. 


123 


She said they seemed written for her. Ever after 
to her the Angel of Pain was a friend, and never was 
she known to murmur or complain. 

Years went on, and still the dear girl lay chained, 
as it were, to her couch, but always hopeful, full of life 
and spirits, taking a keen interest in everything going 
on, and never relapsing into the peevish, narrow- 
minded state so usual with invalids. Her love for 
her friends never wavered, and her interest in all their 
joys and sorrows was as eager as if she were out with 
them in the bright, beautiful world. They came to 
her with all their sorrows and pleasures, and her 
generous heart never for one instant begrudged them 
the delights which they enjoyed, and which it is 
natural for youth to crave. Words cannot paint the 
picture of that sweet young life, shattered, but yet 
beautiful. To think of it one would say it was a 
sad, sad picture, one that would touch and subdue 
the coldest heart. But, no one ever entered that 
room, made sacred by the presence of that gentle 
sufferer, without being strengthened and cheered by 
the sight of that lovely girl, so bright and merry, so 
full of sympathy for joy or sorrow, so uncomplain- 
ing, so young and so beautiful. A peace and calm 


124 


THE BEIDAL BOUQUET. 


filled the soul of those who were privileged to enter 
within the charmed influence of her presence. 

The love of the two friends had grown with the 
years, and while our modest little Violet in her 
seclusion never lost her youth and girlish manner, 
Kose developed and matured into a majestic woman. 
It may have been from the lesson taught by the 
withdrawal of her dear friend from the world by the 
Hand of God, that made her mind take such a serious 
mold, or perhaps that small, sweet voice of conscience 
spoke in the depths of her true heart, showing her 
the uselessness of a life spent wholly in the pursuit 
of pleasure. 

Which it was I do not know, but Rose very soon 
gave up, little by little, the gay world, and her young 
life was spent in the service of the poor. Still she 
had many pleasures, and of friends and admirers not a 
few, and before many years she came to Violet to 
tell that piece of news so dear to the heart of a girl — 
her engagement. 

Violet heard the news with delight, and while 
Rose poured out the story of her love, her fears and 
joys, Violet listened, holding lovingly the warm 
strong hand of her friend. 


THE BRIDAL BOUQUET. 


125 


Rose left her, feeling that she had been strength- 
ened and foi’tified for the new life before her by the 
love and sympathy of her gentle friend. 

* * * 

* * * 

The day of Rose’s wedding was bright and clear. 
The parlors were filled with merry guests and the 
house brilliant with flowers. A hush fell over the 
assembled guests as Rose, leaning on her old Father’s 
arm, came up the broad hall and turned into the front 
parlor where Edgar Lewis, her lover, awaited her. 
All eyes were turned on the lovely bride, who, true 
to her resolve to give her life and substance to the 
poor, had instead of the silk and satin usually worn 
as bridal costume, selected a simple white mull, 
which hung about her graceful form in soft folds. 
She had no need of the discarded elegancies, for 
never did a bride look more beautiful, nor have 
many received more heartfelt admiration. It was a 
quiet wedding, beautiful in its simplicity. 

Rose carried a superb bunch of flowers, and just 
as she was about to leave the parlor to don her travel- 
ing costume, she handed it to Violet’s young sister 
Frances, who, radiantly beautiful in a simple white 
dress, had stood by the side of the stately bride. 


126 


THE BRIDAL BOUQUET. 


Give these to my beloved Violet, and tell her 
that her absence was the one thing which marred my 
happiness to-day, said Rose. 

Violet cried over the Bridal Bouquet, and prayed 
as only a woman would that her precious Rose might 
always be happy, and her life as pure and beautiful 
as the flowers she had held in her hand. 

As long as there was any life in the fair blossoms, 
Violet kept the Bouquet by her side ; but a day soon 
came when its beauty had all departed. Sadly she 
picked the poor withered flowers apart one by one, 
to see if, at least, a few might still be worth keeping. 
All were dead save one little sprig of geranium, and 
this looked sadly drooping. Violet’s mother was a 
great lover of flowers, and well-skilled in the art of 
caring for them. Her heart was bound u^) in her 
suffering child, and the one thought of her life was 
to give her ple^isure. 

Let me take that little cutting, Violet dearest, 
and plant it. Perhaps it may grow,” she said. 

Oh ! mother darling, would it not be too splen- 
did if you could raise it, and then we could give it to 
Rose. I think it would be lovely,” said the poor 
child delightedly. 


THE BRIDAL BOUQUET. 


127 


For weeks and months Violet and her mother 
nursed the little plant. At first it seemed doubtful, 
but by a judicious system of pruning and tending it 
throve, and by Rose’s first wedding anniversary it 
was a fine healthy plant, and, wondrous to tell, full 
of blossoms and buds. 

Violet sent it to Rose with a tender little note, and 
can we marvel that Rose shed bitter-sweet tears over 
the geranium ? Violet had kept it a secret from her 
friend, so the pleasure was two-fold. 

The little plant had thrived under the loving 
mother’s care all that year, but not so her child. 
The white geranium had bloomed, but the white 
violet — ah ! that was to blossom soon in the Garden 
of the Master, and the heart-broken mother bowed 
her head in submission to His Will. She had seen 
her child suffer so much, could she not rejoice that 
rest and joy would soon be her’s ? 

The months dragged on, and another year was 
added to the long term of Violet’s pain. But the 
Master called for His white Violet one day, and the 
sad Angel of Pain and the sweet Angel of Heath 
sped down to earth, and into that sacred chamber. 


128 


THE BRIDAL BOUQUET. 


Tenderly raising the fair, fragile flower from the 
mother’s bosom, they soared upward through the 
starry skies, and with songs of joy and love laid it 
at the Feet of Him Who had loaned it to earth. 

When Violet lay cold and beautiful in the sleep 
of death. Rose came, and on Violet’s wan little hands 
laid a bunch of pure white geranium blossoms. 

Violet is in Heaven, Rose on earth doing good, 
and the white geranium still lives and blooms. 


THE LIGHT 51UE TEH GOWH. 


i 


THE LIGHT BLUE TEA GOWN, 


Paris, September 21st^ 1887, 

Mademoiselle : 

JT is with the greatest astonishment that I learn 
from some of your compatriots that there are 
some de Regniers living in America. Through them 
I learn how to address you, as also that an American 
lady would not take it amiss should I write. Till 
I met these gentlemen I had thought that I and my 
son alone bore the name. Will you kindly do me 
the honor to communicate with me telling me the 
names of your ancestors, the date of their arrival in 
your fair country, and also any item of family his- 
tory you think would tend to enlighten a student of 
genealogy. Thanking you for the trouble you will 
take, allow me to olfer you my profound respect and 
duty. 

Louis Alexis Pierre de Regnier. 

To Mademoiselle Frasquita Marguerite de Begnier. 

131 


132 


THE LIGHT BLUE TEA GOWN. 


This formal letter, written on paper embellished 
with the armorial bearings of the de Kegnier family, 
met the astonished gaze of Frasquita. 

Selected from a pile of letters on account of its 
evidently foreign appearance, her delight over its 
contents^ made her forget her other correspondents, and 
their favors fell to the floor in a heap, as she jumped 
up and danced around the room in her excitement 
over receiving a letter from a real live count.” 

Frasquita, I am ashamed of you,” said her 
mother. You know your dear papa always said he 
had relations in France, and had he lived, no doubt, 
we too would by this time have added a seal to our 
notes. Dear, dear ! think of your writing to Jennie, 
for instance, and signing yourself, Frasquita, Count- 
tess of Fegnier sur Loire.” 

Stranger things than that have happened. Maybe, 
some day I will — ” 

But, oh ! dear, there is nine o^clock, and I must 
be off, or that tiresome old ^ school marm ’ will be 
giving me ^ a going over.’ ” 

Frasquita, I insist that you use more elegant 
language. What would the Count say, could he 
hear you ? ” 


THE l^IGHT BLUE TEA GOWN. 


133 


Oh ! you dear, foolish little mother ! Don^t 
begin to work coronets on the handkerchiefs yon 
bought yesterday, till the Count ^ turns up,^ and we 
^ look him over.^ 

And saying this the dear, impetuous girl gave her 
mother a hug, and flew, rather than walked olf to her 
daily work of trying to make French verbs take 
root and bear fruit in the fertile soil of American 
brains. 

While we leave Madame de Regnier amazed and 
elated over the French letter, and, mother-like, weav- 
ing fair dreams for her beautiful Frasquita, we will 
have to go back, say fifty years, to find out the 
origin of the family. 

Early in the century, Philippe Antoine de Regnier, 
tired of the restraints of the old world, left France, 
as he thought, to pay a visit only to America. 

But, very soon meeting a beautiful young girl, 
Louise Tron§on, a daughter of a refugee from San 
Domingo, he forgot his home and country, and 
investing his money in land, settled down to the 
happy life of a Louisiana planter. One son was 
born to this couple, who, at the breaking out of the 
late war had just married. 


134 


THE LIGHT BLUE TEA GOWN. 


As the civil war has nothing to do with our story, 
we will pass over its horrors. 

Soon after its close, old de Kegnier died, leaving 
to Philippe an impoverished plantation, several 
pieces of unusually handsome antique silver, and a 
package of old papers, which Philippe never thought 
of reading over — for he was a careless fellow, and 
though he was devoted to his fair young wife, 
had not forethought enough to conceive, that 
'perhaps these very papers might enable him to 
raise himself out of the poverty to which he was 
reduced. 

He sold the plantation, and with the remains ol 
his shattered fortune came North, where, owing to 
the change of climate and a naturally weak consti- 
tution, he soon died, leaving his fair young wife 
with little Frasquita a baby in arms. 

The young widow was brave and truly worthy of 
the noble name she bore ; and after struggling 
through all the hardships of poverty, we find her 
this bright morning in October, in cosy little apart- 
ments, and looking so sweet and lovely that she well 
deserved the pet names Frasquita was so fond of 
calling her. 


THE LIGHT BLUE TEA GOWN. 


135 


But dreams must end, and Madame, feeling the 
reproach of conscience at having lost so much time 
when her dear Frasquita was so hard at work, began 
at once to straighten up her rooms to receive 
the twenty young ladies who came three times a 
week, to read and talk French with herself and Fras- 
quita. For you must know they had become the 
fashion ; and so much so that they were obliged to 
take their pupils in large classes. 

Among the letters scattered on the floor which 
Frasquita had not even time to pick up, was one 
with the same foreign post-mark, and the same hand- 
writing, but addressed to Madame de Begnier. It 
was as follows : 

Paths, September 27th , 1887. 

My Dear Madame : 

I took the liberty a few days since of addressing 
a letter to your daughter. Mademoiselle Frasquita 
Marguerite de Regnier, not knowing then that heaven 
had spared the life of my cousin’s wife. Having 
again met the Messrs. Browne, and learning more of 
you from them, and being convinced that your hus- 
band’s ancestors and mine are the same, I at once 


136 


THE LIGHT BLUE TEA GOWN. 


conceived the idea of uniting the two branches of the 
family. Monsieur Browne tells me that your daugh- 
ter is an Angel, and you yourself a little l,ess, 
Madame. Moreover, with the eyes of a parent, I 
perceive that Monsieur Tom Browne admires your 
beautiful Frasquita. Madame, this will not do — my 
sou Antoine, is all a mother could wish. I send him 
to woo and win your daughter. He does not know of 
my intention, for I hear that young ladies in America 
are coy, and let to have more freedom than we think 
proper. However, I place the matter in your hands. 
My son sails from Havre to-morrow, consequently 
will be with you very soon after you receive this 
letter. With much respect, Madame, I am yours, 

Louis Alexis Pierre de Kegnier, 

Count of Regnier sur Loire. 

Madame glanced at the clock, then hastily put the 
portentous letter in her pocket. Frasquita must 
not see this, or know anything about it. She would 
immediately ‘ go for ’ the young Count, as she calls 
it, and there would be an end to all my dreams.’’ 

However, no such calamity happened. During 
the class and all the afternoon Frasquita had been 


THE LIGHT BLUE TEA GOWN. 137 

as full of life and as gay as a bird. She laughed 
and chatted with the girls, and her gaiety made 
her look so lovely that one of the young ladies, as 
she left the class, said, Mademoiselle looks like a 
Princess.’^ 

Madame had been nervous and preoccupied all 
the afternoon, but Frasquita was too full of spirits 
to notice her mother. 

After the evidences of the tea had been cleared 
away, Frasquita, in the prettiest of blue tea gowns, 
sat down to read and answer the letters she had so 
neglected in the morning. It was her first free time 
at the end of a busy day. 

Madame would have wished that she had put on 
her best dress, but, as she could give no reason for 
her so doing, she smothered a sigh as she noticed 
how lovely her child looked, and how the soft blue 
of the gown set off the delicate beauty of Frasquita’s 
complexion. ^^Why here is a letter from Tom 
Browne ! The skies seem to be raining foreign letters 
to-day — and oh ! Mamma — he wants me to — 

A loud knock interrupted her sentence. ^^A 
gentleman to see Madame, said the janitor, and he 
10 


138 


THE lilGHT BLUE TEA GOWN. 


ushered in as handsome a young gentleman as eyes 
could hope to see. 

* * * * 

* * * 

Frasquita never could be made to understand why 
Madame received him so composedly, or from where, 
as the evening wore on, she produced the fruit and 
cake and wine which seemed to spring up miracu- 
lously. It was only after she really had become 
Madame la Comtesse de Regnier sur Loire, that the 
old Count told the young couple the pretty ruse 
which had been played on them, and then they were 
too happy and too taken up singing the song of 
love, of which the world is never weary ’’ to care. 

* * * 

* * 

Of their after life, only one thing will I tell you, 
which is, that Antoine says his wife must always 
have a Light Blue Tea Gown. 


THE LULinDT 





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THE LULLABY. 


JT has been said that even the faults of auburn- 
haired people are lovable, and one would be 
willing to believe that there is truth in the saying 
after seeing Patty Marston. 

Sweet Patty Marston made a lovely picture as she 
sat in the deep window-seat knitting, the click of 
her needles keeping time to a sweet lullaby of long 
ago, and the soft hum of the birds and the insect 
life out of doors making a weird accompaniment to 
the music of the little song. 

It was half a hymn, half a lullaby , — a tender bit 
of music broughf from the home country beyond 
the seas by her ancestors, and which her Father and 
Mother had sung to her night after night when she 
was a baby. It was her favorite of all the songs 
she knew, and so suited her sweet voice and tender, 

141 


142 


THE LtJLLABY. 


loving heart that one would imagine that its com- 
poser had her in his mind when he wrote it. 

If we look into the room we can see General 
Marston, Patty^s father, a perfect specimen of the 
gentleman of colonial days. He was a man in the 
early fifties, but with hair as white as snow and as 
soft as silk, which fell in short curls around his high 
forehead, while the back was drawn into a cue and 
tied with a broad bow of black satin ribbon, Patty’s 
special care and pride. No one could arrange it like 
Patty. Indeed some one had quite hurt her loving 
little heart by suggesting that the General’s valet 
ought to comb his hair; and the General resented 
hotly that any one should strive to interfere with the 
loving compact made when Patty was yet but a lit- 
tle girl. Patty was to have the honor of combing 
and plaiting the beautiful white hair, and in return 
she was to sing the sweet lullaby the last thing 
every night, that the household might lie down to 
sleep with the thought of the thorn-crowned Jesus 
in their hearts. 

Patty, child, go and tell your Mother to come 
here — and you run off and play in the sunshine. 
Too much work indoors isn’t good for my sweet 
birdling.” 


THE LULLABY. 


143 


Patty knew well enough that this was just an 
excuse to get rid of her, and she was on such inti- 
mate footing with her father, that she did not fail to 
let him know that she saw through his solicitude 
for the roses on her cheeks. After a merry waste of 
time in happy badinage, and a final kiss right in 
the eyes, to make up,^^ she called Ponto, the hand- 
some Irish setter, and was off into the sunshine, 
dancing over the smooth lawn with the faithful dog 
at her side, and was lost in the shade of a clump of 
willows which skirted the base of the hill. 

The general had risen from his seat at the table 
and was watching her from the window she had just 
left. He was still lost in revery, when a white little 
hand was laid on his arm, and oh ! such a soft voice 
said : 

You want me, dear ? ” 

It was the voice of his wife — just the voice a wife 
and mother should have, at the very sound of which 
sorrow and care take wings, and peace and comfort 
fill the heart. 

Mary, what do you think of this ? ” and he 
handed her a letter, saying : “ Kead it aloud, dear. 
Nothing sounds so bad when you say it, or nothing 


144 


THE LULLABY. 


SO sweet/’ and the dear old man kissed the sweet 
mouth from which issued always words of love and 
cheer. 

You old flatterer ! One would think you had 
just come from a court ball, instead of the battlefield.” 
But all the same, a blush of happiness overspread 
the loving wife’s face. 

“ Never mind the war now. We have sent the 
Bed Coats back to old England with something 
besides Virginia tobacco in their pipes. This is even 
nearer home to us than the freedom of our country.” 

Nay, nay, John, nothing can be nearer the heart 
of an American than the overthrow of her enemies.” 

Bead the letter, dear,” said John. 

General John Marston. 

Friend Marston : — 

I hear that the son of thy brother-in-arms, Wm. 
Jenifer, is about to visit thy part of the country, and 
though, as thou knowest, I, as a peaceful Friend, 
do not approve of wars, I glory in the result this one 
has brought to this country of my adoption, and I 
honor the men who have so nobly gained us liberty. 
Wm. Jenifer’s son is about to visit thy part of 


THE LULLABY. 


145 


the country as I said above. If Billy Jenifer, Jr., 
wants thy daughter Patty, thou wouldst do well to 
give her to him. 

Sammy Townsend, 
Orthodox Member of Friends. 

The sweet voice ceased and the room was filled 
with a ripple of such contagious laughter that the 
General forgot his anxiety. 

You dear old goose of a man ! The idea of call- 
ing me away from my sweet pickles to take the 
knots out of such a simple skein as this.’’ 

But, wife dear, don’t you see, they want our 
birdling — ^that sly old fox of a Quaker has put in 
the opening wedge, and — ” 

Tut, tut, John. Don’t fret before you have cause 
— and, besides, Patty is as sweet a woman as heaven 
ever sent on earth, and a meet match for any man. 
— She must marry some one, so why not Wm. 
Jenifer’s son?” 

But, wife dear, she is but a child.” 

She is nearly seventeen.” 

That’s but a child’s age.” 


146 


THE LULLABY. 


You did not seem to think so when you married 
me — I was barely fifteen when you so honored me/’ 
and the merry little lady made the General a mock 
courtesy. 

Soon the General heard her giving orders for the 
preparing of a room for the expected guest, and 
presently she came back and took up the knitting 
Patty had thrown down, and as if some charm lay 
in the soft wool, the click of the needles was soon 
keeping time to the old home music of the lullaby- 
hymn. 

* * Hs * 

* * * 

Wm. Jenifer’s son, or as he was familiarly called, 
Billy Jenifer, to distinguish him from his father, 
was riding along the old turnpike on his trusty 
horse. Major. Horse and man were imbued with 
the spirit of the times, and there was an air about 
them that spoke of difficulties overcome, and a look 
of strength and vigor which even in those days 
when, if we can believe tradition, most men were 
heroes, attracted more than ordinary admiration. 

Billy Jenifer wore a dark green riding coat, with 
collar, cuffs and pocket flaps of velvet, the whole 
adorned with silver buttons. His vest was of buff 


THE LULLABY. 


147 


chamois skin, and his breeches of light corduroy 
were almost hidden by the long riding boots which 
covered his handsome limbs. His spurs were of 
silver, as was also the handle of the short whip he 
carried in his heavily gloved hand. His hat of dark 
green felt was adorned with a silver cord, which, with 
the silken band, was held in place by a stiff silver 
buckle. His cue of glossy red-brown hair was tied 
Avith dark green ribbon, and when he lifted his hat 
a crown of soft curls revealed themselves to the eyes 
of his admirers — and there was no one who did not 
acknowledge his beauty. 

His horse was as much ornamented as himself, 
and his valet, who rode on an equally handsome 
beast, was dressed in becoming livery. From the 
looks of the generous saddle-bags over the back 
of the pack horse led by the valet, one could 
promise one’s self to see Billy Jenifer in goodly 
attire. 

Tall, standing six feet four in his stocking feet, 
with broad shoulders and superb carriage, one was 
forced to think of some fair god ” when he entered 
a room. There was an easy grace and hearty, whole- 
souled manner about him that made him adored by 


148 


THE LULLABY. 


his servants, respected even by his enemies, and 
beloved by his friends and family. 

A turn in the road brought him to a shady bit of 
wood, and there, seated on a rustic bench formed 
of two fallen boughs was, Billy Jenifer thought, 
the most beautiful maiden his eyes had ever 
gazed upon. 

It was sweet Patty, of course. She had decked 
Ponto’s collar with wild flowers, and her large garden 
hat was lying by her side full of ferns, grasses and 
flowers, of which she was weaving a garland. As 
she sat there, with the sunlight sifting through the 
swaying branches of the trees forming a fitful aureola 
upon her gold-crowned head, Billy Jenifer would 
have been willing to swear that she was a wood- 
nymph, coaxed from her leafy seclusion by the glory 
and power of the sunshine. But her quick springing 
to her feet dispelled the illusion, and in a moment 
he had dismounted, and hat in hand was inquiring 
the way to Marston Manor. 

You are already there, good sir. Marston Manor 
knows no gates, and you have for the last quarter of 
an hour been on its land.’’ 


But where is the Manor]? ” 


THE LULLABY. 


149 


few steps more, and you can see it. This 
clump of trees hides it. Perhaps, sir,’^ she con- 
tinued, you will prefer to walk after your long ride 
from town ? and seeing a look of glad assent in 
his eyes, she turned to the valet — Lead the horses 
through this next lane. A short ride will bring 
you to the stables. Tell the men that these are — ? 

^^Wm. Jenifer’s horses,” filled out the enchanted 
Billy. Such naive, and yet dignified courtesy he had 
never beheld. 

Welcome to Marston Manor, Sir Wm. Jenifer ! 
My Father and Mother will be charmed to receive the 
son of my Father’s brother-in-arms. Come with 
me, and in a few moments you will be at home.” 

Billy regarded Patty in a dazed sort of fashion, 
and when they emerged into the open sunshine of the 
sloping lawn, the poor fellow thought he was in 
Heaven, for he had fallen hopelessly, idiotically 
in love. 

Patty was tall, as was all her race, and as straight 
and slender as a young tree. Her hair was the tint 
that poets and painters love, but which defies pen or 
brush to describe its beauty. Her eyes were large 
and soft brown, and she had a way of raising them 


150 


THE LULLABY. 


to one’s face with a pleading look which was irresisti- 
ble. One would lay down one’s life for sweet Patty 
Marston and never think of the sacrifice. Her skin 
was like a baby’s, soft and white ; and her dimpled 
cheeks made one think of autumn peaches. Her 
mouth, which was not particularly small, had a sus- 
picion of a pout, but when she laughed, which she did 
very often, being a joyous spirit, a set of even white 
teeth shone out like pearls. 

This bright June morning, her dress was a pink 
lawn, made short and showing a pair of slim little 
feet in high heeled slippers with large silver buckles, 
and black silk stockings much clocked in yellow. 
Her bodice was drawn down in a sharp point back 
and front, and the sleeves, reaching only to the elbow, 
were puffed high on the shoulders. Over this she 
wore a cape of finest India linen, edged with ruffles 
of embroidery, and the long ends in front were tied 
in a coquettish bow at the waist. Her garden hat 
was full of flowers, and her gauntlets had been drawn 
off to arrange her garland, so Billy could feast his 
eyes undisturbed on the beauty of her face and hands. 

Father, here is the son of our old friend. Captain 
Jenifer, come to visit us.” 


THE LULLABY. 


151 


Come in, come in ! Welcome to Marston Manor ! 
Come right in, come right in ! My, my ! the image 
of his father, Mary dear. Hope you are as good a 
man ! Bless my soul ! rode all this way ! Well, 
come right in, come right in ! Bless my soul ! ’’ 

* * * * 

* * H« 

That night Billy Jenifer for the first time in his 
life dismissed his valet with almost a curt good 
night,’’ which sent that faithful dusky friend to the 
servants’ quarters with new ideas in his head. 

^^Guess I’ll soon have a Mis’tess as well as a 
Marsta’. Well, if she is asboo’ful as she looks, this 
yere niggah ’ll be a happy chile,” thought Bob. 

Billy’s dreams were of the most confused nature. 
A wood nymph in a pink dress crowning him with 
a garland of flowers, a lovely lady and a hearty old 
man welcoming him, and pressing him to eat and 
drink ; and then a voice of such intense sweetness 
singing a sweet old hymn — 

“Sweet Jesus, shield Thou my little one,” 
sang the dream voice, and Billy Jenifer awoke to find 
himself on his knees. Before he rose he made a vow 
to be worthy of that sweetest of singers, Patty Marston. 


152 


THE LULLABY. 


The Summer glided by and Autumn found Billy 
Jenifer still at sweet Patty’s side. Often had he 
said, I will leave next week, I really ought to go 
home,” but some expedition would be gotten up, 
some pretty view yet to be seen, some wood still 
unexplored in search of ferns, and so the time went 
on. 

It would be hard to tell who was the most deeply 
in love with Billy — the General, Mrs. Marston, 
Patty, or Ponto. As for the servants about the place, 
they simply fell at his feet in humble adoration. — 
It had been a Summer of delights for Bob, who to 
his dying day never tired of recounting the many 
incidents of de Summa’ when Marsta’ was co’ting.” 

The General was loath to have Billy to leave, but 
the breath of Winter was beginning to be felt, and 
the time had come when Billy must start for the 
long homeward ride. 

From the very first Patty had, with the simplicity 
which was one of her most graceful charms, accepted 
Billy’s love, and returned it with all the ardor of 
her sweet soul ; and when all was arranged with her 
parents, the whole family gave themselves up to the 
happiness which had come with this gallant suitor. 


THE LULLABY. 


153 


A quaint little ring very soon encircled Patty’s 
slender finger^ and when the merry girls in the 
neighborhood teased her, as all girls have done since 
the beginning of time, the dear child would blush, 
smile, and then almost cry; but finally a demure 
little voice would say : 

It is William’s ring. It belonged to his Mother, 
and you know she is dead. He has told me all 
about her, and I wear it for her sake.” 

O Patty, Patty ! what a pretty little fib ! It is 
all very well to talk about William’s Mother, but 
how about Billy himself?” cried saucy Ida Gray. 

The wedding day was fixed for the first of June, 
the following year, and Sweet Patty promised to 
console herself with a letter by each stage — once in 
every two weeks. Now-a-days if a young lady 
does not hear from her beloved every day, life is 
made a burden to all her surroundings ; but, in the 
olden times Love was patient, and with patience 
gained trust and strength. Patty and Billy were 
earnest and true, and in the months to come and go 
before the wedding, each resolved to become more 
worthy of the other’s love. 

11 


152 


THE LULLABY. 


The Summer glided by and Autumn found Billy 
Jenifer still at sweet Patty ^s side. Often had he 
said, “ I will leave next week, I really ought to go 
home,^^ but some expedition would be gotten up, 
some pretty view yet to be seen, some wood still 
unexplored in search of ferns, and so the time went 
on. 

It would be hard to tell who was the most deeply 
in love with Billy — the General, Mrs. Marston, 
Patty, or Ponto. As for the servants about the place, 
they simply fell at his feet in humble adoration. — 
It had been a Summer of delights for Bob, who to 
his dying day never tired of recounting the many 
incidents of de Summa’ when Marsta’ was coTing.’^ 

The General was loath to have Billy to leave, but 
the breath of Winter was beginning to be felt, and 
the time had come when Billy must start for the 
long homeward ride. 

From the very first Patty had, with the simplicity 
which was one of her most graceful charms, accepted 
Billy’s love, and returned it with all the ardor of 
her sweet soul ; and when all was arranged with her 
parents, the whole family gave themselves up to the 
happiness which had come with this gallant suitor. 


THE LULLABY. 


153 


A quaint little ring very soon encircled Patty 
slender finger, and when the merry girls in the 
neighborhood teased her, as all girls have done since 
the beginning of time, the dear child would blush, 
smile, and then almost cry ; but finally a demure 
little voice would say : 

It is William’s ring. It belonged to his Mother, 
and you know she is dead. He has told me all 
about her, and I wear it for her sake.” 

O Patty, Patty ! what a pretty little fib ! It is 
all very well to talk about William’s Mother, but 
how about Billy himself?” cried saucy Ida Gray. 

The wedding day was fixed for the first of June, 
the following year, and Sweet Patty promised to 
console herself with a letter by each stage — once in 
every two weeks. Now-a-days if a young lady 
does not hear from her beloved every day, life is 
made a burden to all her surroundings ; but, in the 
olden times Love was patient, and with patience 
gained trust and strength. Patty and Billy were 
earnest and true, and in the months to come and go 
before the wedding, each resolved to become more 
worthy of the other’s love. 

11 


154 


THE LULLABY. 


Finally, one bright day in October, when the 
woods were glorious in their red and yellow tinted 
foliage, Billy and the faithful Bob, turned their 
backs on Marston Manor. They started off gaily, 
and Patty, brave to the last, rode several miles with 
them, and then she and the General watched them 
till they were lost in the distance. As the day wore 
on Billy’s heart failed him, and he almost turned 
back to beg the General to allow him to marry 
Patty at once. But knowing the folly of such a 
request, he tried to console himself with the thought 
that he would soon be riding back with a gay caval- 
cade. From time to time he would sing, and when 
he would come to the refrain from an old French 
song, ^^The sweetest harmony is the voice of her 
whom I love,” Bob would say, Dat’s so, Marsta’ 
Billy, dat’s so ! ” 

* * * * 

* * * 

Sammy Townsend must have known somehow, 
how it was going to be,” the General said to his 
loving wife the night after the wedding. I never 
did like Quakers, and I feel as if this one had 
something to do with stealing our sweet birdling.” 


THE LULLABY. 


155 


Such a wedding as it had been 1 All the gentry 
for miles around had been there, not for the cere- 
mony alone, but for days after while the festivities 
lasted. Never had such a couple been seen. When 
they stood up in the little private chapel of the old 
Manor, surrounded by their maids and gentlemen 
in waiting, they made such a striking picture that 
involuntarily the guests broke into a murmur of 
admiration. 

Merrymaking of all kinds followed the wedding, 
till finally, a fortnight after, the day came when 
Billy was to bring his bride home. A large com- 
pany came with them. The gentlemen and their 
valets on horseback, and the ladies and their maids 
in the lumbering coaches of the day. More festivi- 
ties followed, and everywhere the lovely bride was 
greeted and received as the fitting wife of her noble 
and much beloved husband. 

It is said that more love matches were the outcome 
of this famous wedding trip than from all the tourna- 
ments which had been held for years. Ceiiain it is 
that Patty and Billy were kept busy going to wed- 
dings for several years, and they were always the 
honored guests. More than one bride blushingly 


156 


THE LULLABY. 


confessed that seeing their happiness had induced 
her to listen to Tom, Jack or Dick, as the case might 
be. Sweet Patty would turn to her noble husband 
and whisper, ^^Ah ! William, I am so happy ! ” 

The picture was too beautiful. Earth cannot sus- 
tain a joy so akin to the peace of Heaven — so the end 
came, not however, before the perfume of her loveli- 
ness had made a lasting impression on this weary 
old world. Should she came back to-day, she would 
find her influence still at work, for the deeds and 
words of the truly good and great never die. 

It has been sung by some sweet-hearted poet — 

“ God calls our loved ones, but we lose not wholly 
What He hath given ; 

They live on earth, in thought and deed as truly 
As in His Heaven.” 

Fifteen years of ideally happy wedded life had 
been theirs, when the birth of their sixth child sapped 
the strength of the still young mother. After giving 
the baby to her faithful old nurse Peggy who had 
come with her to her new home, blessing her chil- 
dren and bidding her beloved husband be brave, she 
sank to sleep, asking broken-hearted Billy to sing 
her the lullaby. 


THE LULLABY. 


157 


Poor Billy ! left with his six boys, he had to be 
mother and father both. No other love ever came 
to his heart. He lived to be an old man, and had 
the consolation of seeing his motherless boys grow 
to manhood worthy of their mother and his noble 
self. 

Faithfully did he live up to the vow he made the 
first night he saw sweet Patty Marston, and when 
the dear Angel of Death came, he greeted him as the 
long-delayed messenger who was to convey him to 
his loved one. 

Sweet Patty ! Noble Billy ! 

I can scarcely restrain the tears when I think of 
the tender tradition which has come down to us of 
how, after his wife’s death, poor Billy sang his 
motherless little ones to sleep with the old lullaby- 
hymn : 

“Sweet Jesus, shield Thou my little one.” 


THE IKOn CKOSS. 





THE IRON CROSS. 


JT is late. The village clock has long since 
struck midnight, the fire has gone out, the 
candle burns low and sputters a feeble protest 
at being kept working so long. Still the old 
grandmother sews on, her poor withered hands 
trembling and unsteady, her eyes dimmed with tears, 
as well as by age. But only a few more stitches, 
and the warm woolen jacket will be finished. Then 
she can pack the box which must be ready for the 
field-post early in the morning, and which is for 
Franz, her grandson, who is away in the war with 
France. 

What a comfort and blessing was that field-post 
to the hearts of the women of Germany during the 
anxious months of the Franco-Prussian War ! And 
what a boon to the men amid all the horrors of war 

161 


162 


THE IRON CROSS. 


to receive the words of love and cheer from the dear 
ones at home ! Ah ! many a poor fellow went to his 
death strengthened by the loving letter received and 
read just before the battle, and in the din and con- 
fusion of the conflict the words of the dear mother 
thrilled his heart. Lying there, dying amid the 
dead and wounded, a fair picture of home and mother 
would rise up before the death-dimmed eyes, and as 
he sank to that long last sleep of the soldier, whose 
voice was it that sang, 

“ Mein lieber kind, my little child ! ” 

Heaven bless the man who first instituted the 
field-post — the one blessing, the one glimpse of peace 
amid the grim scenes of the battlefield ! 

At last the sewing is all done, the box packed, 
the letter written in which the dear old grandmother, 
proud of her boy, and woman-like, wishing him to 
prove himself worthy of honors, ends her letter with 
the injunction to be sure to be true and brave, to 
think ever of the Fatherland, and to come home to 
his loving old grandmother decorated with the Iron 
Cross.’^ 

Her hands trembled as she sealed the package, 
making sure the fastenings with red wax — for alas ! 


THE IRON CROSS. 


163 


might not her brave Franz, her hope, her pride, her 
all, be among the slain ! 

^^Why must there be war,’’ sighed the feeble, 
world-weary old woman. We were so happy. But 
I suppose the Kaiser knows what is right.” 

The tears flowing down the wrinkled, but yet 
kindly face of the old woman, testified to the doubt 
in her own humble mind as to the wisdom of the 
Kaiser — for was there ever a true, good woman who 
approved of war? 

Could there not be some other way of settling 
difficulties ? Why must so much warm, young blood 
be poured out — so many homes made desolate ? Ah ! 
mein Gott ! mein Gott ! help us all, French and 
Germans, and send us peace ! ” 

Love and pity filled the heart of the lowly old 
woman. Her mother-heart ached for all the women 
of both nations, and in her simple, untaught soul 
was solved one of the great questions of our age ; 
not according to the world’s code, but as it must 
be solved by every right-minded man and woman. 
She remembered that humanity links us all, that 
within our hearts Mercy should ever be active, that 
Love can conquer hatred and strife, and Forgiveness, 


164 


THE IRON CROSS. 


which possesses the blessed power of touching the 
secret chords of the heart and lessening the desire 
of revenge, will melt the hearts of our enemies, and 
unite us, in the Eyes of our Heavenly Father, in the 
sweet bonds of brotherly love. 

But my Franz will win the Iron Cross. Ah ! I 
shall be so proud of him ! and the fear of his danger 
was lost in the anticipated joy of his home-coming. 

* sK * * 

* * * 

The war had ceased, and peace been declared many 
weeks, before Franz awoke to the realization of his 
position. Left for dead on the battle-field, he had been 
found by two tender-hearted French peasants, who 
on discovering that life still played within the seem- 
ingly dead body, bore him carefully to the Hospital 
in a small French town, where the Gray Sisters 
nursed all, friend or foe, alike. It was a question 
of souls with these holy women — not to what Nation 
the poor wounded body had once sworn its allegiance. 

A groan of awakening consciousness brought a 
sweet-faced Sister quickly to his side, and her gentle, 
pitying Mon Ami,’’ assured the poor bewildered 
fellow that he was among friends, and not a prisoner, 
as he at first supposed. 


THE IRON CROSS. 


165 


Question after question poured from his eager lips ; 
but no, the good Sister would not answer them. 
“ Take this cool drink, and try to sleep, and then I 
will tell you all I know, Mon Ami.^’ 

Then seeing that his one free hand felt on his 
breast for something, and guessing his meaning, she 
added smilingly, have your Iron Cross safely 
put away. You shall have it — if you are good.^’ 

A long drawn out sigh of relief, and Franz fell 
off to sleep, soothed by the sweet voice of the Gray 
Sister. Slowly but surely life came back to the 
sturdy young German. When he was so far con- 
valescent as to be able to walk around the ward a 
little, the Sister, after telling him as much as she 
knew of the youth’s story, took him to the bedside 
of one of his countryman who was fast nearing death. 
There on the cot lay the slight, almost girlish figure 
of a youth, the yellow curls pushed back from his 
fair brow, the large blue eyes with the wistful look 
of pain mutely speaking from out their depths — one 
arm gone, torn from the fragile body by a bomb — the 
grey mist of death closing around the sweet young 
life ; and he alone, and so far from home. 


166 


THE IRON CROSS. 


Do men think of the consequences when they 
madly rush into War ? Such a scene as this, oft- 
1‘epeated, alas ! might well make the coldest-hearted 
warrior hesitate before issuing a declaration of war. 

But they will tell us that war is necessary, and 
thus country after country is made desolate, and the 
voice of Rachel is heard bewailing over the beautiful 
earth, which God intended should be made joyous 
and glad by the music of the birds and of nature. 

Franz and the Sister stopped by the boy^s side, 
and Franz tenderly asked what he could do for him. 
Gladdened by the sound of his mother-tongue, the 
dying boy, for he was little more, poured out the 
desire of his heart. On marching off gayly to join 
his regiment, he had told his mother and sisters, 
that living or dead, he would come back to them 
decorated with the Iron Cross. He had served 
bravely, and had indeed deserved his honor, but 
who was there to think of him, a poor unknown 
peasant lad, left on the field for dead? In the 
thickest of the battle, when the shells were falling 
thick and fast, and the lines on both sides going 
down like wheat before the mower’s sickle, he had 
bravely sprung forward to the side of the Colonel 


THE IRON CROSS. 


167 


of his regiment, and with his frail body had sheltered 
the life of his chief. He had heard the officer’s cry 
of thanks and his promise of the Iron Cross, and 
then, ah ! then ! — another bomb, and both officer and 
man fell victims to the horrors of war. 

Would you like me to write to the War Office at 
home and report your case ? ” asked Franz, his heart 
melting with pity. 

Ah ! yes, and to the dear mother.” 

Both letters were written and sent. The dear 
mother” was coming to her boy — but the War 
Office — What time had they to think of a poor lad 
dying in France.” 

Day after day Franz saw the look of expectation 
in the lad’s face as the mail came in, and then the 
hope die out, and the old pain settle down on the 
pinched features. It was more than he could stand. 
What was the Iron Cross to him ? He had life, 
hope, home, before him, and this poor boy had given 
his all, and was wearing out his heart expecting a 
never-to-come recognition of bravery. 

Oh ! the ingratitude of men,” thought Franz. 

With the aid of the dear Gray Sister, Franz 
sealed up his own Iron Cross, directed, it, and got one 


168 


THE IRON CROSS. 


of the kind Doctors of the Hospital to write the poor 
boy a letter, as if from the Bureau of War. 

Franz was sitting quietly by the fast dying boy 
when the Sister came in with the box in her hand. 
Kneeling down she opened it. At last ! he cried. 

Don’t read me the letter, dear Sister — only pin 
the cross on my breast.” 

A look of the sweetest peace and content stole 
over the pale young face. 

Mother, mother,” he sighed, I am ready to 
come home now. I have won my Iron Cross.” 
With the letter in his hand, the Cross on his breast, 
he gave one look of love at his poor mother who had 
come in with the Doctor at that moment, then closed 
his eyes, and was dead. 

* * 

The humble cottage of the Grandparents was 
decorated with greens, gay bunches of paper flowers 
and flags, in honor of Franz’s home-coming. The 
old grandfather had laid aside his working clothes 
and with his Iron Cross, won during the war with 
Napoleon I., in 1814, on his breast, and a great 
posey in his button-hole, he sat smiling and happy, 
waiting for the return of Franz. The old Grand- 


IRON CROSS. 


169 


mother and little Mena, Franz’s twelve year old 
sister, had made a great feast for supper. Gretchen, 
Franz’s betrothed, with all her young friends had 
gone to the station to meet the train on which he 
was to come back to his home and loved ones, after 
passing through so many and such great perils. 

Presently in trooped the young people, Franz in 
their midst, pale and thin, with one arm still in a 
sling, but joyous and gay, and with Gretchen at 
his side. Laughter, tears, embraces, exclamations of 
commiseration, bursts of joy followed in rapid and 
confusing succession. Even comparative quiet did 
not reign till after supper, w^hen they all clustered 
around to hear Franz tell his story of how he had 
been succored and nursed back to life by the French, 
by those whom he had thought his enemies. 

Long they sat listening ; the old grandfather with 
his hand on Franz’s knee, little Mena standing at 
his side, hanging on each word, and showing plainly 
her pride in her gallant soldier brother. Suddenly 
at a pause in Franz’s story, the old man turned and 
looked at him intently. 

^^But where is your Iron Cross?” he asked. 

We know that you won it.” 

12 


170 


THE IRON CROSS. 


I haven’t it any more/’ said Franz simply. 

You haven’t it any more ! Did some dog of a 
Frenchman steal it ? or worse still, did you lose it ? ” 
he almost screamed. 

No, no, dear Grandfather, neither. The French 
are a noble, generous people, incapable of such an 
act — but, I haven’t it any more.” 

The grandmother moved nearer in sympathy, and 
Gretchen’s soft hand was laid on the poor wounded 
arm. He was her hero with or without a Cross, and 
her loving little touch told him so. 

But the old man was not to be pacified. 

To win the Iron Cross, and then forfeit it ! Bah ! 
he is no grandson of mine ! Go out of my house ! Go ! ” 

But, Grandfather, wait, and I will tell you all,” 
said Franz. 

Slowly and tenderly Franz told the story of the 
young lad whom he had made die happy, and whose 
mother was so proud of his honors. Sobs from the 
men and women interrupted the story, but when he 
had finished not a sound broke the silence in the 
room. Little Mena had slipped out without any 
one noticing the child. Coming back, her face radi- 
ant with subdued feeling, pride and love, she walked 


THE IRON CROSS. 


171 


up to Franz, and with all the queenly gravity of 
unconscious childhood stood before him. 

The Kaiser gave Franz an Iron Cross so that he 
would love him/^ she said. He sent it to Heaven 
with the dear young soldier boy. I will give my 
Franz a golden Cross, prettier by far than an Iron 
Cross, which he will wear for the love of the dear 
King and Father who is in Heaven,^^ and she pinned 
on his breast the gold medal which had been won by 
her industrious little self at the parish school. 

Bravo ! Bravo, little Mena ! cried the men, and 
the dear child was almost smothered in embraces, 
while Franz, down on his knees before the old 
grandfather and grandmother, was asking their 
pardon for disappointing them, and begging their 
blessing. 

I could not help it, father,^’ he said simply. 

You are my own dear boy,^’ murmured the dear 
old grandmother. ^^As I have always said, God 
help us all ! why should there be war ! Ah ! that 
poor dead boy ! that poor dead boy ! 

Yes, Mena,’^ she said a little while after, it was 
a Golden Cross our Franz won, and the dear Father 
in Heaven will bless him.’^ 





THE ERizE ctironninEnum, 



THE PRIZE CHRYSANTHEMUMS. 


®IVE, six, seven ! the old clock in the corner 
called out, and then settled back with a whizz 
and a bang into its creaky, hoarse, tick-tock ! tick- 
tock ! 

^^Two more hours, and then they will be here, 
mother,’^ said the old man. 

Yes, only two more hours,’’ said his wife. 

The old man poked the fire, making the flame 
start up with a shower of sparks. The old lady 
leaned back in her chair, smiling and happy. The 
room was a picture of homely comfort, and these two 
old people looked as if they belonged to the long 
forgotten past. And they were indeed old, and, like 
most old people lived almost entirely in the recollec- 
tion of the events of long ago. In one corner of the 
room stood a table set with quaint china and old 

175 


176 


THE PKIZE CHRYSANTHEMUMS. 


silver, and by the somewhat odd mixture of its 
accessories showing that it was laid for one of those 
strange meals, half a dinner, half a supper, which 
are only forthcoming when guests are expected at 
unusual hours. 

The room was gay with flowers. The fresh net 
curtains were caught back with bright yellow ribbons, 
the corner-cupboard was dazzling with its display of 
old china mingled with bric-a-brac of the present 
era. Some of the furniture was the most antique of 
the antique, and by its side perhaps would stand a 
saucy wicker rocking chair decorated with pink 
ribbons, a screen, hand painted, or a standing lamp 
with silken shade. Several very old engravings 
hung on the walls, while on a frivolous little table 
in the corner stood a copy of Millet’s Angelus, and 
above the upright piano, hung one of those exquisite 
photogravures of the sea. Such a strange comming- 
ling of past and present, and yet withal such a 
beautiful room, such a happy blending of coloring 
that the keenest lover of the artistic could not And a 
flaw in its arrangement. And what kind of a room 
do we call it? Not a parlor, surely, for there is the 
great open fire-place, and, shall I confess it ? a great 


THE PRIZE CHRYSANTHEMUMS. 


177 


black tea-kettle singing away as it hangs from the 
crane. Not a dining room, for there is no buffet, 
no carving tables, no array of stifP, uncomfortable 
leather chairs. No, there are none of these, nor 
could they be found within the vine-clad walls of 
Cozy Corner.^’ The parlor is on the other side of 
the house, but with its repellent grandeur of green 
rep furniture, its Body Brussels carpet, its chill air of 
don’t intrude, if you please, we are glad to hastily 
shut the door and cross the passage and enter into 
the warmth and comfort of the living-room, where 
we are sure always to find dear old Uncle Mac and 
Aunt Lotty. Here Uncle Mac smokes his cigar, 
nay, sometimes a pipe, and Aunt Lotty plays with 
her two kittens. Whiskers and Boots, to her heart’s 
content, when she is not busy with her never finished 
knitting or patchwork. 

This dear old couple are simple, kindly folks, 
not very well educated. Miss Physical Culture 
would say, nor living in any style. No, they are 
neither. Uncle Mac is almost entirely self-taught, 
and when he went courting Lotty Harris, who was 
then the teacher in the district school, he gravely 
and humbly acknowledged that he had great difficulty 


178 


THE PRIZE CHRYSANTHEMUMS. 


in reading the few periodicals which then found their 
way to so remote a portion of the country. But 
Lotty, school-mistress though she was, thought there 
were far worse calamities than not being a rapid 
reader, and was nothing loath to lay aside slate and 
primer and become the fair mistress of Cozy Cor- 
ner,’’ and preceptor to Mac Kensett. 

He could not have been very hard to teach, for 
in one corner of this bright room we find an old book- 
case, full of well-worn editions of authors who have 
long since been forgotten, with many of later date. 
And as for style. Well, it is true. Uncle Mac would 
now and then sit in his shirt sleeves, all Aunt Lotty 
could say never broke that bad habit, and he always 
wore loose, easy-fitting clothes, an old-time stock, a 
broad felt hat, and never any gloves. In the depths 
of winter he would condescend to a pair of woolen 
mittens of Aunt Lotty’s knitting. But gloves ! 

Gloves are well enough for invalids and women,” 
he said. 

Aunt Lotty’s costume was the never-failing plain 
black silk, white net shoulder cape or shawl, white lace 
cap trimmed with bows of narrow ribbon, and with 
these she wore a fine white apron. Her beauty with- 


THE PRIZE CHRYSANTHEMUMS. 


179 


stood the changes of time, and as her life declined 
and Heaven drew ever more near, she grew more 
beautiful, with a beauty less of Earth, as the day for 
her entrance into Heaven approached. 

Theirs has been a wonderfully happy life, though 
many sorrows have crossed their path, which have 
seemed but to draw the husband and wife nearer 
together. When, as one after another their little 
ones were taken from them, and only the one was 
left to brighten their stricken hearts, they knew that 
they had not lost their babies, that they had but gone 
before, that they were still really their own, and 
that the dear God had taken them in love, not in 
anger. Only one child was left them, their son 
Paul, and he was all that heart could desire, manly, 
generous and comely. But alas ! he had been mar- 
ried but a few years when death had come and 
snatched the strong man, and in a very short time 
his young wife, leaving two babies to the dear old 
grandparents. If anything could console them for 
this double loss, it was the companionship of these 
two lovely children, Paul, aged four years, and 
Dora, the baby. 


180 


THE PEIZE CHRYSANTHEMUMS. 


Life began anew for Aunt Lotty, and as for Uncle 
Mac, he was the willing slave of these two young 
tyrants. 

Cozy Corner rang with the merry shouts of 
happy children. Some years later, Paul, a sturdy 
lad, went off to college with a fine show of bravery, 
though he in after years acknowledged that he shed 
bitter tears when he was left by himself in that vast 
assemblage of strange faces. But he soon picked 
up courage and wrote home glowing letters, which 
were the delight of his doting grandma. As is gen- 
erally the case, for love seems to be governed by 
opposites, Paul was his grandmother’s idol, and 
Dora the grandfather’s pet, though both were equally 
cared for by the loving hands of their second mother. 
As I said, Paul was a gay, sturdy lad, full of spirits 
and life, and while he really loved his grandpar- 
ents with all the ardor of a generous, boyish heart, he 
found so much amusement in the companionship of 
his school-fellows, that he soOn got over his distress 
at leaving home. But Dora, tender little Dora ! 

Of course, she must be sent to boarding-school. 
How else was she to be educated ? ” asked the ex- 
school-mistress grandmother. 


THE PRIZE CHRYSANTHEMUMS. 


181 


True,” said Uncle Mac, sadly, “ but, can’t we 
wait a little while. Mother? She is such a timid 
little pet.” 

'^No, she must go, hard as it is,” insisted the 
inflexible Aunt Lotty. 

So poor little Dora’s trunk was packed, and Uncle 
Mac, with a heart as heavy as the child’s own, 
started off to give his precious little one to the tender 
care of the good Sisters at the Visitation Convent, 
in an adjoining State. It would be hard to tell 
which one felt the separation more. Uncle Mac 
came back a sad, listless old man, and Aunt Lotty 
cried all night, and for several days after. But 
education was the ruling spirit of her life, and it must 
be acquired at no matter what cost. So she dried 
her tears, and set to work to console Uncle Mac 
with the same unselfishness which had characterized 
her in greater sorrows. 

But Dora. How was it with her ? Try as she 
would, the dear child could not overcome her home- 
sickness, and each week brought pathetic little letters 
begging to come home. She had been a trifle way- 
ward, and had shown a spirit of childish insubordi- 
nation, and that was one reason why Aunt Lotty, 


182 


THE PRIZE CHRYSANTHEMUMS. 


with her stern good sense, insisted that the child 
needed the restraining influence of a large school. 

Tell Grandma,^’ wrote the poor child, that I 
will never be naughty again, if she will only let me 
come home. I will feed the chickens, and weed the 
flower-beds, and never tease Martha and Jane any 
more, and really I will try and be good. I am so 
unhappy, that I think I will soon die. Grandpa 
dearest. I donT mind in the daytime so very much, 
but when night comes and we all go to bed, and there 
is no one to kiss me good night and say God bless 
you,’’ it nearly kills me. I cry half the night and 
get a scolding every morning for oversleeping my- 
self. The girls are very nice, and I love the Sisters, 
but,” — here was a great blot and tear stain, — 
think I am dying. Please come for me before it 
is too late.” 

What could Uncle Mac say to such an appeal as 
that ? He was for starting off by the next train to 
rescue his darling from the hand of death, but Aunt 
Lotty, who was of cooler blood, advised waiting a 
few days. 

^^It is not so bad as you think, Mac dear. I 
know something of school children,” she said. 


THE PRIZE CHRYSANTHEMUMS. 


183 


The old man fumed and fretted, and grew more 
unhappy each day. Finally, on the Saturday of the 
same week, there came a letter from the Superioress 
of the Convent, urging Dora’s plea more eloquently 
even than herself. 

Though we are reluctant to relinquish the care of 
the dear child,” wrote the good Sister, I feel it my 
duty to urge you to take her home. We are all, both 
Sisters and children, devoted to Dora. A more gentle, 
lovable child we have never seen. But her’s is a 
nature which demands the protecting love of home. 
She is visibly pining away, and I cannot conscien- 
tiously leave you in ignorance of her condition, as I 
fear she may go into a decline.” 

The next day being Sunday, nothing could be done. 
Uncle Mac and Aunt Dotty drove to church in the 
low, old-fashioned gig, which seemed just made for 
their old-time selves. After the service, the good 
country people saw the old couple standing hand-in- 
hand by the row of little graves, and the two large ones. 

I couldn’t stand another loss, Mac,” said Aunt 
Dotty. 

The next Sunday Uncle Mac, Aunt Dotty and little 
Dora drove to church. Dora looked pale and thin. 


184 


THE PRIZE CHRYSANTHEMUMS. 


and the neighbors crowded around the dear child 
with eager questions. 

Had she been ill ? Why was she so pale and 
thin ? What was the matter ? 

The sermon that morning was on the thanksgiving 
we owe our Heavenly Father for the blessings He 
sends us. Uncle Mac sat with Dora’s soft, childish 
hand, clasped in his old wrinkled one. The child 
looked frail but happy, while over the old man’s 
face there was an expression of blissful content. 
Aunt Lotty’s keen eyes filled with tears as she looked 
at the two, and her thoughts soared away to that 
other little Dora safe in Heaven. 

All this was ten or twelve years ago, and now Paul 
has grown to be a fine man, a promising lawyer in the 
city. Uncle Mac would have preferred that he had 
followed in his footsteps, and lived on the old place. 

“ But this is the age of progress, and Paul could 
hardly be expected to waste his talents on a farm,” 
argued Aunt Lotty. 

Oh ! I suppose not,” answered Uncle Mac, with 
slight sarcasm. He is too fine a gentlemen to be a 
farmer,” he added a little hastily. 

^‘Now, Mac/^ said Aunt Lotty. 


THE PRIZE CHRYSANTHEMUMS. 


185 


Thanks to the modest fortune he had inherited 
from his parents, and the few thousands Uncle Mac 
gave him on his coming of age, Paul was independent 
of the precarious income usual to his profession when 
it is in the stage called promising,’^ and he delighted 
the hearts of his grandparents by marrying Gertrude 
Preston, the daughter of one of his fathePs school- 
fellows, a fair beautiful girl with a true, noble heart, 
and loving enough to satisfy even Uncle Mac’s high 
ideal of what a woman should be. To all these good 
qualities was added a rare fund of good sense, and a 
very good education, this last adding the crowning 
glory to her good points, in Aunt Lotty’s mind. 
The wedding had taken place two weeks before, 
and they were awaiting the arrival of the bride 
and groom. 

And Dora ? Well, Dora was still little Dora ” to 
the fond old grandparents, though she had grown 
to be a lovely young girl, full of life, well educated 
in spite of Aunt Lotty’s fears that a governess would 
be a failure, unusually pretty, with a wondrous talent 
for music, and possessing a sweet, true voice which 
filled the old house with its dulcet tones, and brought 
joy and sunshine into the hearts of the household. 
13 


186 


THE PKIZE CHRYSANTHEMUMS. 


The lads of the country-side flocked around her, 
eager to carry off* the young beauty from Cozy 
Corner,” and PauFs college friends, and those he 
brought from the city, vied with the country beaux 
in offering her homage. But — ^well, she shall speak 
for herself. 

Grandfather, see what Louis Van Laun has just 
sent me,” she said, as she came in the room where 
the two old people were quietly waiting for the 
expected guests. Such chrysanthemums. Grandpa ! 
He has won the prize at the County Fair. Here is 
the certificate, and so — ” 

She was down on her knees before her grandfather 
by this time, with her head buried in his lap. The 
little coquette had told several of the young men 
who were paying her marked attention, that she 
would seriously consider the suit of the one whose 
chrysanthemums won the prize. Uncle Mac knew 
of this bit of coquetry, and while he was not sure 
that he approved of his little girl being so audacious, 
still he could not find it in his heart to scold, — 
though he talked it over gravely with Aunt Lotty. 

knew all the time that Louis would win, 
so it wasnT so bad, was it. Grandpa ? ” came Dorans 


THE PRIZE CHRYSANTHEMUMS. 


187 


voice from the depths of Uncle Mac’s lap. Louis 
Van Laun followed his offering of the prize beauties 
ere Uncle Mac found voice to answer Dora. It 
was as pretty a scene as artist ever conceived. Dora, 
with the golden beauties in her hands, blushing and 
smiling. Uncle Mac tenderly grave, and Aunt Lotty 
tearfully, yet smilingly excited, as are all women in 
the presence of a love affair, and the glow from the 
dancing flames of the open fire lighting up the 
room. 

Louis Van Laun stood irresolute, with an eager, 
questioning look on his flushed handsome face. 

Just as Uncle Mac put Dora, chrysanthemums 
and all, in Louis’ outstretched arms, old Martha 
opened the door with a flourish, and taking in the 
situation at a glance, with the inimitable, pompous 
air of a darkey, announced — 

De carriage is a driven’ up de road, an’ de odder 
bride an’ groom am about to arrive.” 

^ ^ ^ ^ 

* * 

Gertrude and Paul’s house in the city is the per- 
fection of a home. Ample means, guided by good 
taste, has arranged and furnished it simply but ele- 
gantly, and it is the delight of Gertrude’s heart to 


188 


THE PRIZE CHRYSANTHEMUMS. 


have people tell her it reminds them of ^^Cozy 
Corner.” She and Paul have used every argument 
and wile to induce Uncle Mac and Aunt Lotty to 
leave ^^Cozy Corner” to Dora and Louis, and to 
come and live with them. 

But no, Uncle Mac could not get his breath in 
town, there were too many bricks,” he said, and Aunt 
Lotty, well, Dora could not possibly take care of 
the baby.” 

So Gertrude was forced to give up her wishes, but 
she was not to be foiled, however. 

Grandpa and Grandma should stay with her 
forever,” she said. 

After a great many mysterious visits to ^^Cozy 
Corner” from a gentleman the young people intro- 
duced as a friend of Paul’s,” much letter writing, 
and a visit to town from Dora and Louis, it was 
finally decided that the whole family from ‘^Cozy 
Corner” should spend the 10th of November, Paul 
and Gertrude’s fifth, and Dora and Louis’ third 
wedding anniversary, at Paul’s house. 

So they all drove to town. In one corner of the 
parlor stood a hastily constructed, temporary easel, 
mysteriously draped, and after dinner Gertrude and 


THE PRIZE CHRYSANTHEMUMS. 


189 


Paul led the old couple up to it. Throwing back the 
silk, Gertrude said : 

You would not come to live with us willingly, 
so see ! we have you anyhow ! ” 

There stood a veritable second Cozy Corner in 
painting. Uncle Mac and Aunt Lotty on either side 
of the open fire-place, the old crane with the singing 
tea-kettle, the corner cupboard, the table, the various 
little details which were the distinctive features of 
the room, even the two cats drinking milk out of a 
saucer at Aunt Lotty’s side, as was their habit after 
supper each evening. — A beautiful home picture, and 
one which drew tears to the eyes of the dear old 
couple it represented. 

'‘Did you want us so very much, little girl?’’ 
asked dear old Uncle Mac tenderly, kissing Gertrude. 

"Indeed, we did, and see, now we have caught 
you.” 

The picture was hung with much glee, where it 
every day gives more pleasure to Gertrude and Paul, 
and all their friends. As I said, it was a double 
anniversary, and after the first excitement of the 
picture was over, Paul said teasingly : 


190 


THE PRIZE CHRYSANTHEMUMS. 


^^The picture was Gertrude’s present to me, and 
mine to her. What did you two give each other ? ” 
Louis drew from his pocket a tiny package, and 
opening it, placed on Dora’s breast a diamond pin. 

My present to Louis is a very little one,” said 
sweet Dora, with tears in her eyes. 

A little silver box — and what was inside? — One 
of the Chrysanthemums which had won Louis the 
prize, and his wife. 


THE nnEKLOW. 






THE AFTER-GLOW. 

An Etching. 


®HE stately ship with all her bravery on/^ 
^ sped down towards the wide, dim, mysterious 
ocean. Each throb of her great engine’s heart im- 
pelled her nearer to a pall-like cloud. Like the black 
mantle of night it hung outspread in the eastern 
sky, waiting to envelope the goodly vessel within 
its sombre folds. The deck appeared deserted. The 
supper gong had sounded, and the passengers, merry 
and thoughtless, had answered gayly to its sum- 
mons. But hidden behind the line-box stood a 
little group, an old man and two young girls, gazing 
wistfully at the fast receding shores, wrapt in the 
beauty of the picture before them. Gif in the west 
lay the busy city they had but just left, its domes, 

193 


194 


THE AFTER-GLOW. 


spires and buildings bathed in the glory of a won- 
drous sunset, and itself, from the glow, metamor- 
phosed into a city of gold. 

Rapidly the glorious sun went down behind the 
hills, leaving the sky and land dyed in the crimson 
glory which he cast around him as he sank to rest. 
Not a breath stirred the air. The flag and awnings of 
the steamer hung listless. The smoke from the pon- 
derous smoke-stack fell like a mist, lifeless and dull. 

The sea was black, — not a wave broke its calm. 
The glow deepened and spread. The western heavens 
which were full of the fleecy clouds of a mackerel 
sky, blazed with splendor. The dark waters caught 
the reflection and became as a sea of blood. 

The brass of the compass-box, the fastenings and 
railing were as burnished, deep red copper — even 
the smoke now resembled a plume shaded from 
blood-red to faintest pink. 

It may be fancy said the elder girl with a far- 
off, exalted look on her sweet face, but it seems to 
me that the Gate of Heaven has been opened, and 
we have been accorded a glimpse of the glory within.” 

Instinctively the three drew closer together, the 
radiance adorning them with a nimbus of light. 


THE AFTER-GLOW. 


195 


Men’s faces looking into a sunset are golden : 
so are our lives when they look always into the 
countenance of coming death/’ quoted the old man 
dreamily. 

And the stately ship sped on, away from the 
heavenly kiss of the after-glow, into the dark heart 
of the storm cloud. 

* * SK 5|S 

Did you see the sunset this evening. Captain ? ” 
asked one of the gay, careless passengers later in the 
evening. 

Yes,” said the Captain earnestly, turning towards 
the east. Then in an undertone — “We shall have 
a hurricane at midnight.” 

5{S 5|{ * 

* 5f: * 

The ship had 

“Sailed for sunny isles, 

But never came to shore.” 

* * * * 

* * * 

Miserere Domine ! 














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